The Last Days (Original)
by SquirrelCanHandleRandomness
Summary: Middle Earth's final days, see through the eyes of some Fourth Age denizens and a fallen Maia. I am rewriting this story, and I hope to be posting the first few chapters of the new version fairly soon. I will be keeping this one up.
1. Frying Pan

**Author's Note: I was bored, spent my free time ring the LOTR wiki, and I felt like writing. This is not likely to be updated frequently, so please do not grow too attached. If someone wishes to take this fic on please feel free to (PM me) do so.**

**Disclaimer: Sauron is property of Morgoth. May they fall into the Void together admitting their long buried hate-crush feelings for each other as they do so, as long they don't tell us about it. What happens between touchy-feely Dark Lords in the Void, should stay in the Void. Or… maybe it'll wind up in someone's fanfiction someday…but THAT is not this fanfiction. In this fanfic, I will create a Sue OC to terrorize Middle Earth and obviously the afore mentioned Dark Lords will suddenly turn into good-ish-guys as they seek to vanquish the Sue… assuming they're not too busy getting reacquainted to pay attention to the Sue taking over the world. (My guess: they won't notice the evilness of the Sue.)**

**(Psst! I own nothing, in case anyone was wondering!)**

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**Frying Pan**

The sound of hastily moving feet dashing across the wood floor was heard long before the owner of those running feet burst into the kitchen.

"Linaer, there's a munster in the nursey."

"Another Monster?" Linaer looked down at her little sister, with a slight frown. "Did you threaten it?"

Linaer set the potato she'd been peeling onto a plate and wiped her starchy wet hands on her apron, before reaching for the cast-iron frying pan sitting on the coals.

"I told it we had a pan."

Linaer heard a faint pop as her sister stuck her thumb into her mouth.

The pan had already oiled it, already begun heating it. So much the better for bashing monster-heads in. A regular cool frying pan didn't seem to get the message across to all of them, but a hot one… that might actually work. Of course she'd have to wipe monster blood and dribbled oil up off the floor, but it was a small sacrifice. Dinner would be delayed.

"Alright, Elwin take me to your monster."

Elwin took grabbed Linaer's empty hand and began guiding her down the hall.

The air began to grow hot as they progressed down the hall, and with the heat came a very unpleasant sense of foreboding. Halfway down, she stopped and gently pushed Elwin against the wall. "Stay here." She smiled and ruffled the girl's dark wavy hair. "I'll be right back."

She hoped she'd be right back. There was definitely something in the nursery, and it wasn't one of the regulars.

Linaer could feel it's presence like a physical weight and every inch of her body was crawling with gooseflesh begging her to run. But there was nowhere to run. Her sister's safe haven had once again been invaded by another monster, and she had dinner to make, so leaving wasn't in the question. Besides, she had The Frying Pan- no monster had ever dared to cross her after getting bonked in the head with it. This monster would be no different.

For a breathless moment she hesitated outside the ajar door, wiping at the sweat moistening her brow. There was still time to go back. She stole a glance at her sister quietly watching her from afar, with clear blue eyes.

Elwin had never seen her afraid before, and Linaer wasn't about to turn tail in front of her now. She brandished the pan and pushed the door open.

"Get Out!"

What met her gaze, stole her breath away in a whoosh. Enough sense was left to her to remember the pan in her precariously slack grip. If it fell it would probably hit her foot or damage the floor. Her mother would have a fit if she broke her foot or the floor- going on about how she'd taken it too far with her monster battling.

"Who-who-what are you?"

Darkening the corner of the room, was a black mass; both solid and transparent. It moved like a cloud of dense smoke, coiling, and roiling like a cloud. Occasionally a tendril of smoky-cloud would appear as it- was it hovering, or standing? It seemed like smoke, but she could never remember that corner ever being so dark before.

Maybe it was part of the shadow too? The smoke-shadow-being seemed to morph into something vaguely human shaped if not a deal taller, only to lose immediately lose form, until finally she heard an exasperated huff, and the smoke-shadow being fell into its roiling boiling version of stillness.

"You're not from around here. So here's your first and only warning- if I ever see you in this house again I'll cave your head in." Linaer made the threat strongly enough but seriously doubted her pan would do much good against smoke. She'd blow it out the window or something- grab blanket and start waving it in the smoke monster's direction.

The monster uttered a soft disembodied light wheezy series of huffs that left her spine shivering, and skin tingling. This was not good.

"Thou thinkest a pan will harm me? I have been harmed by weapons far greater than pans, and by people who were far more dangerous than little girls."

"So you're dead then? Why aren't you in the Hall of Mandos?" Why did she ask? People who had great fear of the Valar were probably not people she wanted to cross, and already she'd threatened this thing- this more than likely evil thing with a frying pan. Had she really need to ask?

To make matters worse it was making that light whispery mocking wheeze sound again, which she suspected was its version laughter. "In a sense, yes, but I cannot go to Mandos."

Linaer paled as the morphing smoke shape detached itself from the corner and approached her, dragging shadow with it. Backing up a step she raised the frying pan. "Get out."

There was edge to her voice that hadn't been there before. It came closer. "Who are you?!"

"Gorthaur." The smoke spirit stopped in front her coiling and roiling. Gorthaur was vaguely familiar…. It made her uncomfortable. The heat, the darkness, this smoky thing in front of her; everything about the situation was making her uncomfortable. And now the thing-he had introduced himself, giving her a familiar, but elvish name. She felt she should definitely know that name.

How many elves did she know? Gil-galad; killed by some idiot Dark Lord a couple thousand years ago, Elrond the half-elf that had ruled the last homely house in the west before leaving Middle Earth, Galadrial- a beautiful queen from some forest, Arwen the Queen of Gondor had been mostly elf, one of the nine walkers had been an elf with a name that had something to with being legless, and Gorthaur… where had she heard that one before? What did it mean? Wasn't 'Gor' dark or black-no not black-but…okay 'Gor' showed up in other names? How about Gorgoroth: the evil desertous plain in Mordor?

She was not familiar with elf names, but one thing was certain…

"You're not an elfin fea."

_Gorthaur… the name doesn't mean any anything good. If it's the same Gor as in Gorgoroth, it's evil. So the smoke is Evil-thaur. Now what on Earth is a thaur- _it's laughter cut through her thoughts.

She mustered up every bit of her courage to glare at it. "That's a real pity. I've always wanted to meet an elf, but since you _clearly _are not-" Gorthaur had something to do with the first Dark Lord, the real bad one, before-_oh Eru save me- _"I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Heart thumping erratically in her chest, Linaer stepped around him, giving him as wide a berth as possible. "A children's play room is no place for fallen elves, grumpy dwarves-" she shoved the nearest window's shutters open- "evil men, or former Dark Lords, so I would appreciate it if you would just leave." She turned toward the smoky menace gesturing at the window.

The sunlight hit him before he could recede and back against the far wall. She watched in a sort of horrified fascinations as the light seemed to be absorbed by the dark smoke before hitting the floor where Gorthaur had been. The smoke monster shifted, and she followed the shifting darkness with her eyes as it edged along the wall.

"I can't leave."

"I can't help my pan colliding with your head."

It laughed again, and the heat intensified. She ignored the uncomfortable dribble of sweat down her cheek, refusing to appear weak. Wasn't he supposed to be cold? Or maybe that was just his nine henchmen?

"And what is that thou think striking at a bodiless entity will accomplish."

He was approaching again, and rather than backing off she forced a foot to slide forward. Then when she thought he was in range she quietly sucked in a breath and blew it at him. With disappointed fascination she watched the smoky shade nearest her dance in her breath's wake, but nothing else happened. It didn't dissipate, didn't recoil, didn't do anything except coil and roil like an angry storm.

"That was valiant-"

The frying pan dispersed the evil entity and collided with the wall with sickening thud. Huffing she lowered the frying pan to see a crescent moon sunken into the wood and paint. Gothraur true to his word was no worse for wear as his incorporeal smoke form thickened into a dense formless mass once more.

"Shut up, and get the Fuck out."

"That is hardly the appropriate manner with which to speak to a guest, and as I said I cannot leave. Seeing as thou hast no means with which to remove me, I intend to remain where I am. Haply, my stay will be but a minor inconvenience to us both-"

"Why can't you leave?"

The darkness became a little denser, and the heat a bit more intense. "He is coming, and I'm not ready to face Him. Haply, his eyes will over look this-" She seemed to fancy him looking around, which made her curious as to how he could see… or talk for that matter. "He will overlook this place, for time yet doth rest in my hand…." He seemed to speaking to himself, as if trying to assure himself he was safe.

"Who is 'He'?"

The slightly solidified black mass regarded her, and she thought she make out the gleam of eyes.

"If thou hast the wit to know me, then thou ought to know Him as easily."

The black mass reverted into a dark cloud of slightly more transparent smoke.

_Morgoth…._

He was returning….

The former Dark Lord of Mordor was in her sister's play room…hiding….

"I will not let you stay here."

"That is a relief, I'd hate to share quarters with a snot-nose brat-"

"No! You must leave. I will not let you stay here. I will run out there shrieking, screaming- she pointed out the window- I'll let the whole of Gondor know where you are, and I'll burn the house down with you in it-"

"Thou shalt do no such thing. Scream, yell, and cry to thy neighbours if thou feel so inclined, but they shall think thee crazy. As for burning the house, that would do naught but leave thee homeless. No, I will stay here, and thou will keep me. In utter silence." The heat in the room flared momentarily. Her hand went to her chest as the air became difficult to breath. The dark mass moved closer, until it was roiling and boiling less than a foot away.

It was like standing too close to a bonfire, the heat wasn't painful, but it was horribly uncomfortable, and Linaer was struggling to breath. The frying pan slipped from her wet fingers, thunking against the floor, leaving another formidable dent, as she backed up toward the window, leaning her head out to suck in precious gulps of slightly cooler air.

The blackness didn't pursue her.

"I will- throw you-in the Void myself." She collapsed against the wall next the window. The air in the nursery was cooling slightly.

"In payment for thy hospitality and discretion I shall not harm thy sister. I think thou ought to bring her in here so the girl knows exactly who to blame should my presence be discovered…"

"Touch my sister," She took a wrathful step forward. "I swear I'll tell Morgoth exactly where he can find you, and how you treasonously hid from him rather than joining him."

Linaer stood and the dark shadowy mass flickered and roiled, and warped itself as it mulled over its perdicament. The soft sound of little feet padding to the door reached their ears and to Linaer's horror Elwin stepped into the doorway.

"We have an accord?" Gorthaur had a grin in his voice.

Linaer glared at the girl in the doorway. "I told you to stay put."

Immediately she averted her gaze to the shadowy mass. She stepped around him making toward her sister, only stopping when Elwin was but an arm's reach away, and she stood between her and the monster.

"This-" she spat out the word like it was bile, before turning her head toward Elwin "monster is not like the others. He's- there was a terrible war between different monsters, and his family was captured, and now he's trying to find them, but he's tired, needs a place rest, and there might be people after him, so what I need you to do is go to the kitchen and start working on the salad mother told you to make."

"He can stay in the nursey then." She offered Gorthaur a wave, before trotting off down the hall. The moment Elwin was gone and Lenaer could hear the unmistakable thumping of a small person climbing onto a counter in pursuit of a large bowl in one of the cupboard she turned to face the dark shadowy mass.

"You are Not staying in the nursery."


	2. The Cat's in the Cradle

**Author's Note: I'm bored. Have another useless chapter.**

**Disclaimer: The previous one said everything... I don't own.**

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**The Cat's in the Cradle  
**

"I hope you find everything to your liking."

Linaer offered him a wicked grin before opening what he assumed was a bedroom door.

The room Gorthaur entered was despicable. He liked colourful environments to an extent. Patterns and colours could invigorate the artist mind, but there was a point to which one could get carried away, and the decorator of this room had not gotten carried away, so much as had gotten violently ill and vomited fuchsia, pale lavenders, and paisley yellow flowers all over the place.

Even the bedspread was a sickening pale pink covered in purple and yellow flowers, that clashed with not only the rest of the room, but with itself as well. He'd stepped into a retina burning hell, and suddenly Morgoth didn't seem quite as bad.

The only thing worse than the colour scheme-or lack thereof was the disorganization of the room's contents; the dolls on the shelves were dust covered and flopped over on each other, all except one which was propped up on a deer skull, the few books on the shelves had no place of their own, and were shoved into whatever space was large enough to fit them, and then there was the desk- at least he assumed it was a desk, because there was a chair covered in wrinkled laundry in front of it, and the thing in question buried under papers and books, but there were too many for it be properly seen .

The bed wasn't even made, and beneath that horribly tacky quilt, bright eye searing yellow sheets could be seen.

The only thing unblemished by pink, flowers, but not disorganization was the closet, and Linaer was rummaging around in it for something. After some thumping she turned and threw the pan onto the bed where it bounce, dribbled oil onto the quilt and sheets, and made the bed moan and creak on impact. He glared at the open closet door.

"It's lovely…" He grimaced at the pan on the bed. If and when he got his physical body back, the first thing he'd do was fix this room, or burn it depending on his mood.

"No one comes in here." Gorthaur scowled. He couldn't imagine why no one would want to enter this room. In Barad'dur there had been dungeons that hadn't been this bad.

"Who's room am I in?"

"It's mine." Linaer smiled at from the closet before disappearing to resume her bumping and thumping. Finally she hauled out a box, dredged from the blackest corner of the closet.

"My mother," she dropped the box on the bed with loud huff. She turned to look at him. "My mother is afraid that the young men won't like me because I'm too feisty and manly for my own good. So she thought it best if I got in touch with my femininity." She gestured around. "This is the current state of rebellion."

"Ah…."

Rebellion… Morgoth revolted against Eru long ago. This girl didn't like being constrained. It was for similar reasons Sauron had joined him. He was an artist, a creator, and working in the smiths kept him confined to the projects other wished fir him to complete, leaving him little time for his own. Morgoth had promised him the time and freedom to pursue his own desires.

Linaer wasn't paying attention to him, as she opened the box. He hoped she pulled out a blindfold, not that she'd be able to tie it around his head or anything, but a bit of sympathy would be appreciated.

Instead she pulled out a navy quilt. "Do you sleep?"

"No."

She frowned, but didn't say anything, and threw it on the chair with the laundry. The frying pan she set on a nearby shelf.

"This will need to be washed." She yanked the quilt off the bed. "Pity I got oil on it." Her voice was laced with sarcasm. The offending sheets were also stripped from the bed. And white sheets, topped with a navy quilt soon replaced them.

They contrasted the rest of the room, but at least it was one less tacky, horribly designed thing to look upon. He tried to avoid looking at the horrid pick quilt and the nasty yellow sheets in crumpled heap on the floor, but the flower-or lumps clumped up ribbon that were supposed to pass as flowers caught his eye. Whoever had sewn the thing, likely realized it was torturous to look upon, and perhaps they'd tried to sew the flowers on to avoid looking at the quilt longer than necessary. Blobs of crumpled ribbon unfortunately had not helped.

"Do you eat?"

He shifted his gaze back to the girl fluffing pillows, now in clean white cases instead of yellow ones with frills and laces. She was probably trying to be civil by asking such a question. Or maybe she hoping she could poison him, not that it'd do any good.

"No."

He could scarcely recall the taste of food; it had been so long since he'd eaten. A question of his own rose to his lips.

"If I am to remain in thy room, then thou art willing to forgo privacy." She paused in her work to scowl, at him.

"I'm not worried about it at all. You're an ancient whatever-you-are that's probably seen everything under the sun already, so I can't imagine I'd fascinate you in the slightest, besides I don't dress in here anyways-"

"Why?"

She was right. He had seen just about everything under the sun, and he seen women far prettier than her. He'd seen Luthien, she had threatened to destroy his physical body, but he didn't deny she'd been the loveliest woman he's ever set eyes upon.

Linaer was ugly compared to that image, and her scowl had been replaced by something deceptively calm as she looked at him. "It doesn't matter."

He didn't believe for a second it wasn't important to her, but he shrugged, because it didn't really matter to him. She could keep her secrets for as long as she was able. He'd undoubtedly learn the truth at some point. If there was one thing he was good at, it was learning every detail of the lives of those around him.

"Linaer-!" An adult's voice was cut off.

"Mother!" Elwin's happy squeal of delight echoed throughout the house.

"Oh shit-stay here!"

Linaer scrambled over the newly made bed, yanked the frying pan from the shelf, leaped over the mound of ugly quilts and sheets, and slammed the door behind her muttering something about being killed, leaving him alone in her hideously pink room.

He stared at the door for some time, listening to the voices coming from the kitchen, unable make much of what said, but it sounded like Linaer might been getting scolded for something.

There was a sound at the door and he receded into the dark shadowy recess of the closet. He watched as a calico cat leaped onto the quilt.

Its large amber eyes gazed into the closet.

Gorthaur frowned at it. He couldn't scare little girls or cats, it seemed. He hated the impotency of his spiritual form. He hated the situation he found himself in. Morgoth could give him his physical body back, but in order for that to happen he had to actually face Morgoth and the ridicule and laughter that would inevitably come with that meeting.

"What dost thou see?"

"Meow," the cat answered, before flopping down on its side and stretching.


	3. Family Affairs

**Author's Note: Hmm, can I make a Cracks of Doom pun? This is a sort of crack-fic after all… for the moment anyways. **

**Disclaimer: I own baby dragons of Flight Rising, anyone who plays please consider buying them. As for this fanfic, I own nothing.**

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**Family Affairs  
**

Linaer glared down at the potatoes sizzling and hissing in the frying pan. Her mother had been furious at what she perceived to be chore shirking in favor of indulging her fantasies. Angry as Linaer was, she didn't really blame her mother for getting upset. Apparently the gift of seeing things that rendered her and Elwin freaks of nature had skipped her mother's generation, or the ability to see monsters had come from their father. Whatever the case was, her mother was convinced Elwin's monsters were imaginary, and that hers were little more than a method of indulging Elwin in play, and Linaer had long since given up trying to change her mind.

She still hadn't told her mother about the dented wall in the nursery yet, but it seemed Elwin had spontaneously decided to start drawing, and had hung her picture up right on top of it.

"How are those potatoes coming along?"

Linaer frowned at the tiny cubes of pepper and paprika laden potato. "Excellent."

"Well the certainly smell excellent." She heard the rustle of her mother's skirts as she strode into the kitchen. Linaer's frustrations slipped away as her pale cool arms wrapped around her shoulders and a pair of lips kissed the side of her head.

"There's something I've wanting to tell you girls," her mother's voice spoke from above and behind, "but I was a little too upset to remember earlier- you really need to let the monsters go." Linaer tensed as her mother released her.

"For a while now we've been expecting a new addition to our family."

Linaer dropped the spatula, beaming at her mother's wistful and misty expression. "He proposed!? Mother that's wonderful."

Her mother laughed. "I've waited long enough for that rascal. He can kill sever an Easterling' head from its body, but trembled and shook and stuttered like a child when he asked. He's such an idiot, but he was such an adorable idiot at that moment, that I knew I had to keep him."

Linaer burst in a fit of laughter and so did her mother.

She'd only met Balakân a few times, and he was quite roguish in appearances, unshaven and with unruly hair that made a mess of itself as it was being brushed, tall strong, covered in scars, black-haired, and green-eyed. He was in appearance the image that came to mind when one said ranger… until one got to know him.

He wasn't somber, but possessed a sort of misplaced joviality, that somehow contrasted and complimented his outward appearance. Her mother needed someone like that, and if…

Linaer sobered though she kept her grin in place. If Morgoth really was coming like the former Dark Lord of Mordor had said, then they all needed someone like that in their lives….

"Anyways…." Her mother cleared her throat and dabbed at her eyes, while trying to hold back another laugh. "He won't be only one joining our family…."

Linaer frowned. Balakân had a lot of dogs, which might not make the cats currently in residence very happy, but- she frowned at her mother's face. By all appearances she seemed trying to be trying to hide a blush. Linaer had always known her mother and Balakân had been spend far too much time with each other, especially in the evenings, for it to have only been talking.

Another younger sibling, and one that wouldn't have its sisters' ability to see monsters. "You and Elwin will have a new younger sibling. With any luck it'll be a boy, so that you won't have to play 'brother' for Elwin anymore, and can finally turn into a proper lady." Linaer flipped the potatos in the pan.

_Way to kill the mood Mother. You should that lecherous old cank that keeps peeping through my window every time I change if I'm not feminine enough, and then we discuss my marriage to him. He even tried to break in once-_

Linaer scraped some potato skin from the bottom of the pan that had saved her and Elwin from than just monsters. Her mother didn't notice her soured mood, which was good. If the world was going to end soon, there wasn't much point in spoiling her mother's festive fervor. She deserved to be happy, after losing her first husband and son within hours of each other.

"Balakân has suggested naming it Azruzôr after your father."

Linaer smiled as she scraped hardening potato skins from the bottom of the pan.

"I'm happy for you. I can't wait to see your wedding." She hugged her mother with a smile.

Her mother returned the hug, planting another kiss on her head.

"Not as happy as I'll be seeing you wed."

Linaer would have thrown up her hands if her mother hadn't been hugging her. As it was she wormed out the hug. "Someday I will, I just, I don't want to now."

"You're fifteen and it's time you started looking for a good man to settle down with. I'm not asking you to go drag someone off the street, and come home with him, but the longer you wait the fewer options there' be." Her mother had no idea how few options there really would be soon… once Morgoth returned. "But at least find a man. If you want to wait to marry him, fine, but you need at least be searching."

Linaer wanted to bury her face in the frying pan.

"First Elwin, now you."

"Elwin?" Her mother's quizzical voice rose over the sizzle of flipping potatoes as Linaer felt the urge to stir them.

"Yeah," Linaer sighed. "She went on and on this morning after you left, about how awesome it would be to be an aunt."

"You see?" She turned to see her mother frowning. "You've never let your sister down, would you let her down now?"

_In this case, YES…. _Linaer bit back a scowl. The best way to end the conversation was to avoid talking. "You're sister has more sense than you." Her mother jabbed a finger at her chest.

"Listen to her."

"Yes Mother."

Her mother smiled and pecked Linaer's forehead.

"Now hurry and get those potatoes, finished. And you _will_ be going to the Light Festival this year."

"Yes Mother." Linaer responded, keeping as much cynicism as she could from leeching into voice, because searching for suitors at the stupid lantern party was so important when she had a former dark lord in her bedroom.

_I would love to see the look her face if I were to tell her that, of course she'd probably try to play matchmaker and-_Linaer snorted, imaging her mother going off on tirade about the3 wonders of love and matrimony to the shadowy remains of Sauron- _he'd probably leave._

Linaer buried a laugh as she flipped the potatoes again.


	4. The First of Many

**Author's Note: After messaging a friend-*glares lovingly at said friend*- I am overly excited for this story, more than I am for RITD. Anyways, I may write a brief Morgoth/Sauron fic in which I delve briefly into their messed up relationship-leading up to a rather messy of divorce proceedings. **

**I wish to apologize to that friend, and to anyone else reading this...it seems between the time I wrote the NA and actually managed to finish this chapter I have fallen beneath a cloud of stress induced funk. This was not as well written as it could have been. Hopefull RITD won't suffer as badly...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, not even a cat! D:**

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**The First of Many  
**

Without even so much as a knock to announce herself the girl that had rudely attempted to sucker smack him with a frying pan swept into her pink and lacy hell of the bedroom, shutting the door with more force than necessary behind her.

"Hi Spooks," she greeted the cat with a frown, before throwing flopping herself onto the bed. Irritated at the crassness with which its mistress shook the mattress, it leapt from the bed and sauntered toward the door, indignantly flicking its tail as it went.

The girl uttered a long winded sigh and dragged a pillow into her face.

Gorthaur stared a moment. Despite how pleasant the scent of spices and fried potatoes hung in the air, dinner had apparently not been such a pleasant affair.

"Push harder against the pillow if thou art attempting suicide."

After a pause, the pillow inched lower revealing a single leery blue eye. It watched him not with hate or fear, but with caution and distrust. It could have been minutes or hours that she laid there staring at him with that single eye watching him from beneath the shadow of a pillow, until at last; she sat up and pushed the pillow aside.

"I'm not trying to kill myself, I'm… frustrated. Wait a few weeks until my cramps kick in and I'll be greatly in need of a quick method to end my life. I appreciate the help though."

She didn't sound like she really cared about his advice. Her eyes were on the quilt and she was picking at a piece of lint or something. At a loss Gorthaur let it go. It was a pity she wasn't trying to kill herself tonight. It was better if she did, because when He arrived, she and a lot of other mortals were going to wish they'd died.

"What should I call you?"

"What?"

She frowned at him. "What should I call you? If I'm going to be keeping your presence here secret I need to call you something, and Sauron is rather memorable. Gorthaur- I don't even read that much and I was able to figure that one out, so do you have an alias of some sort?"

For a long while Gorthaur stared at her bowed head with a frown. She was still focused on whatever it was that was on the quilt's surface.

"What is so exciting about a piece of lint?"

She looked up at him with a frown. "'What Is So Exciting About A Piece Of Lint?' That's a rather long name. You don't have something a bit shorter do you?"

"Call me Zigûr, and don't do that."

"It's force of habit. I have a younger sister that tries to change the subject when I ask her something she doesn't like."

"I'm not thy sister."

The girl didn't respond to that. She just got up, fluffed the pillow, and moved toward the desk.

"My name's Linaer."

She needed to make the pile of papers on her desk even larger, or messier somehow. Her mother had been furious, especially since Linaer turned into a tornado of chaos after the room had been recently painted, but still.

"For one who hates my presence, thou art being rather accommodating."

At that the girl shrugged. "The frying pan didn't work, and I haven't come up with a second method of removal."

There was also a chance his presence might keep the other monsters at bay, but she didn't dare tell him that. She shoved all the clean laundry-the needed to be hung up-on to her bed, and sat down in the chair to begin the long and boring task of ripping up the paper into pieces and strips. She needed something to occupy her time, and under no condition was she going to pass out with a former dark lord in her closet.

There was a sound at the cat flap, and Linaer turned her head, to see pink toes wiggling in the gap.

"Elwin, what are you doing."

Zigûr merely watched from the shade of the closet as Linaer stood, and Elwin pushed open the door and let herself in. She was holding a candle in one hand, and a stack of papers in the other.

"I came to say goodnight."

Without further prompt the sisters embraced.

"Goodnight Elwin." Linaer planted a kiss in the young girl's hair

"Now with you," she smiled giving her sister a nudge, but she slipped away from her older sister and came toward him.

Candle dancing, and papers crinkling she wedged herself through the narrow gap between the chair and bed.

"Uh, Elwin-"

She stopped in front of him, and Zigûr honestly wondered by giant dark shadows didn't terrify these people in the least, or at least the little one; the eldest seemed to be worried about her sister coming so close, but she wasn't screaming or begging, like she believe his oath not to harm the little one hadn't been a lie.

Perhaps there was a bit of Numenor-

"I made you a map!" She shoved the papers at him. "It's to help you find your family. All the pages are numbered so you can put them together. I needed it big 'cause I wasn't sure if you have eyes, and I wanted you to see it."

"Uh-"

He looked over her toward Linaer, but the older girl was utterly flabbergasted.

The girl standing before began rifling in the long sleeve of her night shift, before pulling out something weird. It was, upon closer inspection a shell with feathers tied to it, with on odd assortment of fabric scraps glued to it.

"I made you a good luck charm." She beamed up at him proudly, and he wondered in what sort of outlandish hell he may have wandered into. "It's to keep the bad guys away while you look for your family."

At a complete and utter loss he stared down at the girl as if she were a strange and interesting bug he'd never seen before. Not in a long time had anyone ever given him something for the sake of giving him something. The whole situation was weird.

Always-well for most his life anyways- he had one to be feared, and then he'd wandered into this place where one person was shoving gifts in his face, and the other who knew him didn't seem overly horrified by him.

"Uh…" He wondered if Morgoth hadn't gotten out a bit early was going to suddenly appear chortling about how this had been a joke.

"Um, Elwin, Sweety." He almost sighed in relief, as Linaer moved toward them. She was glaring at him rather dangerously. "Zigûr is tired. Just set those on the desk, and he'll get them when he leaves."

As soon as Elwin had set them down, Linaer was half pulling and half walking her away toward the door. "He needs to get his rest, and so do you."

She planted a kiss in the young girl's hair, before successfully ushering her out.

"Goodnight Lin, night Zigûr." She offered him a wave before departing.

Linaer sat on the bed, with her head in her hands. In a way he felt like doing the same.

"My sister-"

The door opened making and Elwin popped her head in. Peering passed her sister she looked directly in the dark closet, and Zigûr wished the closet was darker and deeper.

"I'll pray for you!"

She shut the door, leaving the room's occupants to suffer in a very awkward silence.


	5. Outing and Innings

**Author's Note: My push to get out as many chapter as possible has killed my motivation, but sadly not my muse. This story isn't going to write itself though…**

**Soon this story will deviate from being crack and become much more serious. Hence the reason for my calling it crack-ish. **

**Disclaimer: I wonder how much Morgoth would willing to sell Sauron for.**

* * *

**Outings and Innings **

With a groggy yawn, Linaer stretched wincing at a horrible pain in her neck. The light of the sun gave her salmon pink curtains an orangey hue. Sitting up she wiped a paper scrap from her face. She was alive. She'd fallen asleep with former Dark Lord's ghost in room, and she was alive… or death was far more uncomfortable than she'd been led to believe.

Her hackles rose, and she turned her head toward the abyssal smoke cloud loitering between her dresses. But her greeting of, "Good morning," sounded pleasant enough considering who she was dealing with.

Slowly she sat up, rubbing at her neck. Maybe she put her head back down in the opposite direction for a while to relieve it.

"Linaer!" Her mother's voice rang out.

"I'll be back." She sighed. Of course she'd be back- it was her room.

Crusty eyed, and in desperate need of tea, Linaer wandered down the hall into the kitchen.

"For heaven's sake, did you sleep in your clothes again!?"

Linaer's gaze landed on the steaming kettle of water on the counter. It was very apparent she'd fallen asleep in her day clothes…again. There was a time when her mother used to say 'good morning,' or 'hello, how was your sleep Dearie?' before finding something to pick at. She was fairly positive her mother's new approach to morning greetings was due to her disapproval of Linaer's procrastination in the marriage department. At least that's what seemed plausible.

"I'm taking Elwin into town with me. Can you do me the favour of watching the house?"

"Yes Mother-"

"I'm ready! Morning Lin!" Elwin came bounding into the room, with a small coin purse jingling in her hand.

Linaer gave her sister a one armed hug deeply engrossed in inhaling the minty steam rising from the cup in her hand.

"We'll be back in a couple hours. Feed the cats, and get dressed." Her mother gave her a brief hug.

"Sure."

Her mother let out a sigh. "Did you not sleep last night?" Then her mother's face turned shrewd. "Were you up battling monsters again?"

Linaer frowned into her mug. No she had not. She'd stayed up because instead of battling monsters, she'd invited one into her room. Telling her mother the former Lord of Mordor was in her closet would not go over well, and then there was his threat for breaking silence to consider-

Her mother half groaned and half growled, "How many times have I told you-"

"It's my fault Mother!" Elwin piped from the front door where she stood impatiently waiting. "I made Lin stay up," her eyes were downcast, and the toe of her right foot was making circles as it often did when she was in trouble. "I wanted her to tell me dragon stories." Elwin offered her mother a contrite smile.

Linaer fought to keep her face blank, as Elwin offered her Mother a seemingly genuine apology. The girl was adorably angelic, but her penchant for lying was a bit scary, but the display was enough to convince their mother, so Linaer just waved her hand, as if brushing aside the apology.

"Don't worry about it."

Elwin's guilt ridden face lit up like a firework, and Linaer risked a scalding sip of tea, to keep from doing anything that ruin her sister's performance.

"Alright," her mother gave Elwin a stern look. "Don't keep your sister up so late anymore." She placed a gentle hand on her youngest child's head.

"We'll be back in a few hours. Do you want anything?"

Linaer frowned. What did she want? Vacating the evil entity from her room would be lovely, but she couldn't ask for that.

"No. I'm fine…" She looked around the kitchen trying to remember if there was anything they were low on that her mother might not have noticed. Linaer had long since taken over the majority of the house's cooking… well the frying anyways, but she was skilled in all aspects of the kitchen and she prided herself on her skills, and the delight her occasional experiments brought to others.

"I don't think I need anything, thanks though."

Her mother nodded and Elwin wrenched open the door running into the street.

"Love you," her mother smiled.

"I love you too."

Her mother blew her a kiss, and slipped out the door. Linaer chuckled as heard her mother's voice scolding Elwin for running off. She took another sip of tea, before her smile faded.

Watch the house, feed the cats, and babysit a former Dark Lord- what a great morning she'd woken up to.

She'd feed the cats first.

* * *

Three small plates of chicken bits from the previous night's dinner and thee bowls of fresh water were set against the wall in the dining room. Spook hastily appeared from seemingly nowhere as soon as the first plate had clinked against the floorboards.

Giving his mottled orange and black head a passing scratch she made her way down the hall and to her room.

"My mother and sister have left, so if you want to…escape this pink prison, feel free. I'm going to go get dressed," she trailed off awkwardly, unsure of how she'd be able to reach into the closet without having to get near the ugly dark menace filling the space with night.

The suddenly roiling in the smoky shade made her heart beat a tad bit faster, as she waited for a response. Then Zigur rose, in the same silent manner as a smoke cloud, until he was just shy of the ceiling. On an unfelt breath of air he sailed under the pale wood above giving it a hazy black look, before drifting out the door.

Linaer stood there watching the empty doorway. If they handed out prizes for creepiness, the former Dark Lord should have won. Shaking herself, she hastened toward the closet, grabbed the first dress she put her hand on and ripped it from the hanger, before bolting for a room where she could change in private.

* * *

Zigur watched the girl slip down the hall with a dress in her arms before turning a corner and disappearing. He couldn't fathom why she wouldn't just change in her own room. It was possible it was presence unnerving her, but mentioned changing in another room as if this something she typically did, so if it wasn't him- it didn't matter.

He had far to worry about than the odd habits of a human girl. His former master was- a meow cut off his line of thought. A peach coloured cat was splayed across a counter basking in the sunlight of a nearby window.

Zigur's metaphorical heart skipped a beat, as it held his gaze with those eyes. Someone else he'd known long ago had possessed eyes like those. Unperturbed, by the presence of a horrific shadowy monster in front of it, the cat shifted onto its side and watched him with one half-closed amber eye.

Backing up, Zigur looked toward the empty hallway, back at the cat, and back to the hall again. "Linaer…?" He hoped his voice was just loud enough to reach her.

The calico cat from the night before appeared in the hall. Without sparing him a passing glance it sauntered passed him and disappeared into the dining room.

"Uh, Linaer."

* * *

Linaer tugged at her sleeves trying and so far failing to pull them over her shoulders. Zigur's voice reached her a second time.

"I'll be there in a second!" She couldn't imagine what the former Dark Lord could possibly want, or why he sounded… anxious. What made a Dark Lord nervous? Huffing in exasperations she gave up on the stupid ruffled sleeves. She'd left the frying pan in the kitchen, so if she needed it, she'd have to see whatever it was that was bothering Zigur.

"Come here Ziggy." She scooped a white fluff ball off the floor. The cat whined in protest, and grumpily settled into her arms. "You don't mind being my weapon do you?"

If she couldn't reach the frying pan, she could try throwing the cat at the monstrous invaders or Zigur even- if it came to it. She wouldn't really, but a yowling, hissing, flying, fluffy projectile ripping a former Dark Lord a new one, was… a very nice image.

"You called." Linaer pulled the fluffy cat against her breast. It whined, but she ignored it, giving the kitchen her attention. Apart from her forgotten cup of tea-which Zigur may have poisoned- still sitting on the counter nothing appeared amiss.

"How many cats do you have?" From the movements of the smokiness she got the impression he was looking around

Linaer raised an eyebrow. Ea was reclining on the counter where he shouldn't have been. Spook was somewhere around the house, and the cat with A-Thousand-Names was in her arms.

"Three. Why?"

The vaporous remains of Sauron roiled and coiled, like a turbulent sea, as he processed her words. Then very abruptly, he slipped passed her. The cat in her arms hissed at him, but Zigur didn't respond. He quietly slipped into her horribly pink room.

"That was rude…ish," Linaer chastised the snowy fur ball, giving the white cat's head a quick kiss before placing her on the floor.

Linaer dumped her tea out a window before she poured herself a new one. Zigur, probably hadn't poisoned it but there was no sense in risking it, and she doubted he'd give her a straight answer regardless of whether he had or hadn't. And revealing to him she was worried over such things was probably not a good idea either.

A few times in her work, she paused to look over her shoulder, but the hall remained empty.

"Ea, what did you do to him?" The cat ignored her, favoring to study a bird hopping along the sill outside. Huffing, at the cat's blatant disregard for higher authority, Linaer sipped her tea, and quietly headed to her room. She couldn't imagine what had come over him, and the notion that he was afraid of cats -amusing as it was- didn't fit with the merciless Dark Lord image of Sauron years of being forced to read had instilled in her mind.

"Are you alright?" The question was out before Linaer could bite her tongue. The dark shadowy mass sat hanging over the foot of her bed like a storm cloud... all that was needed now, was a bit of rain.

"Am I alright?" The feel voice of a former Dark Lord emanated from the dark shadowy mass. "I am well."

Linaer bit the inside of her cheek, nothing in his voice or the storm cloud image in her head conjured up any feeling of wellness. "No, you're not."

There was a momentary heat flare, but Linaer refused to step back away. "Dost thou really care?"

Keeping the shadowy mass in the corner of her eye, Linaer shut the door. "Keep your secrets if you feel so inclined." She leaned against the wall as casually as possible. "Whatever floats your boat. You don't have to talk, but sulking isn't going to do you any favours. Besides, this might be the only chance we get to talk openly without having to worry about being overheard."

"I can't imagine it was my welfare that has brought thee here." Zigur uttered what sounded like a derisive snort. "I trust by 'talk' thou art referring to the return of my former master."

Linaer, eyed him over her cup. "Are you more willing to discuss that, than whatever happened in the kitchen?"

A heavy silence followed, as the shadowy cloud and the girl regarded each other.

"I remembered something. Someone to be more precise. Someone I haven't seen in a very long time." Zigur's voice was soft, and it compelled her to approach. To lean in and listen, but she refrained. She didn't want to get close to him, and she didn't want to appear intrigued by the prospect learning some mysterious person from a Dark Lord's past, that she'd probably never wish to meet in her lifetime.

"Were they dear to you?" So much for letting the subject go. She wondered if Sauron could even imagine one person being important to another. If his actions were anything go by, the answer was a 'no.'

"No..." Zigur's voice trailed off. "I forgot his name, when I needed him most."

A frown formed on Linaer's lips, and she took a sip, then another, and then a third that was longer than the previous two, wincing as her tongue and throat burned. She breathed out her mouth to cool it, still unsure of how she was supposed to respond to that.

"What is it that thou wisheth to know my Master's coming?"

Normally Linaer tended not to approve of subject changes. Having a deceitful, manipulative, overly cute little sister tended to make her rather suspicious of such things, but she let it go. She had a feeling the dark cloud of doom and gloom hanging over her bed wouldn't take well to being pestered.

Linaer chewed her burned tongue, wincing as she minced the soft flesh between her teeth. She knew what she wanted to ask, but she wasn't she wanted to know the answer. Maybe ignorance was bliss. Maybe it was best for her and her family if she didn't learn of the future... from the Father of Lies. Maybe he would lie. Maybe he wouldn't. Several different scenarios of this conversation swirled about her head, and above them all hung that one torturous question...

Was it worth asking? She glared at him, trying to glean some sort of inkling of what might come from the roiling swirling mists of ether. Nothing presented itself.

Very carefully she took a sip of tea, this time mindful of her tongue, before very carefully setting the cup down on a nearby shelf.

"What will happen after he returns?"

The smoke seemed to condense a moment, thickening into a darker shade of black. It settle low over the foot of her bed as if needing to sit. For a split second the cloud looked man shaped, in the same instant becoming a cloud once more. Linaer clenched the palm of her hand in painfully tight fingers. If he was hoping to make her squirm he was doing an excellent job.

When at last he spoke, Zigur's voice was flawless monotone.

"The world will end."

* * *

**I know I forgot to put the ^ thing over the 'Us' in Zigur's name. I'm feeling a bit to lazy, and I'm in a bit too much of a hurry at the moment to run off to the Tolkien gateway and start copying and pasting. There's probably a way to manually type it in- I lack the computer savyness to do it. I'll worry about it later.  
**


	6. Much Ado about Art

**Author's Note: Here it is, another continuation of this drabble. I'm really tired. I have no idea why, and I can't focus on anything, so I'm going to write this. I really want to write, right now, and I have no motivation. My person projects currently suck, because I've been like this for a couple days now… and RITD (with Herumor's stupid dialogue) demands fa r too much brain power than what I currently possess. **

**I've turned my profile into a progress report regarding some of my better stories, so if you're looking to see how about long a story will be, why I'm procrastinating, or vague spoilers, I'd encourage you to look there. **

**Disclaimer: I don't Sauron, because if I did I'd call him Mairon- which I think translates to 'Mine, and Only Mine-' and hug him. But I don't, so I won't do either of those things. But a brain fried college student (where zombies actually come from) can dream right?**

* * *

**Much Ado about Art**

Zigûr stared as the girl very calmly reached for the tea she'd just set down. She sniffed at it, and a tiny smile coiled about her mouth. She took a sip, and looked at his shadowy form. All traces of her previous amusement were gone, replaced by a calmness he had not expected, and wasn't exactly prepared to deal with. Curses, ranting, screaming… all those made sense to him, and considering that he was dealing with a snot-nosed adolescent had all been very likely scenarios he'd planned to deal with, but silence, and a sort of calmness and clarity in her gaze that bordered on serenity, not so much.

He wanted her to talk. He wasn't privy to the minds of others as he once had been, and he wanted to understand exactly what was going on in her head. Maybe her silence was the calm before the storm, or maybe she thought he was lying. He wasn't-

"Thank you," she breathed. With that smile once again in place she turned to leave.

"Thank you?" He couldn't fathom why he'd just received her thanks. Why anyone would be thankful for the world's end baffled him. Even he wasn't looking forward to it, and he'd have his hand in it soon enough. Then there was the fact people didn't normally thank him for things in the first place, to consider.

The teen was nodding, her dark head of brown waves swaying. That smile was still in place. There was gleam in her eye, one that he'd seen before in the eye of many. Lust. "There are many things I've wished to do, and you just helped me prioritize, so thank you."

"What have I helped thee prioritize?"

Her smile was growing, and he didn't miss the way she wrung her hands together. "My projects, of course." The smile bloomed into a grin and the lust in her gaze intensified as it mixed with excitement. "I'm an artist."

Then she was gone, and he was left floating over her bed in a mix of curiosity and confusion. The conversation had certainly not gone in the direction he'd planned.

After a moment he followed the sound of her eager footsteps. He'd been an artist once… when he still had hands. It was… rather invigorating seeing that passion in another, though he doubted very much that her talent lay in smithying. He hadn't seen a forge on his way in.

* * *

The girl's 'art' as she called it, was cooking. The Culinary Arts she'd snapped at him –to be precise- for his initial disapproval, but once he'd taken to hanging in the rafters he watched her go about her business in silence. Her work was swift and diligent, as she poured, mixed, sautéed, fried, boiled, and stirred all manner of ingredients.

Then she momentarily ran out the front door scissors in her hand. He sunk lower, but she wasn't near any of the windows, and he didn't dare follow her outside and risk being carried off by some evil zephyr.

When she returned, she came not with fruits or vegetables, as he'd guessed, but an arm load of flowers- that after stirring some frying potatoes, tasting the contents of one pot, and pulling the lids off a few other odd dishes-she began to sort into piles.

The flowers were arranged, and there he did take an interest, if only because loitering in the rafters while she wasn't actively moving was getting boring. There he offered some advice; suggesting places to cut various stems to add greater variance to the flowers' height, and make them each easier to view while making the bouquets more eye catching as a whole.

"I never suspected you of liking flowers." Linaer frowned as she put flowers into a small vase.

"I fancy flowers… of a different kind. But the aesthetics of a room has been a priority of mine in the past."

"Really?" Linaer poured water in the last of the vases. All she needed now was a table cloth, and then she could put the vases down, and that would make counter space for her.

"If one were going to live in the same place in the same place for several thousand years, minus a brief stint in Numenor, and vacation in Mirkwood," Linaer nodded as she hurried down. It was excitement more than necessity that made her hurry. Although she was sure the soup could use a stir, and the potatoes a good flip. "Would it not make sense to create a space as habitable and pleasing to be in as possible?!"

"Yeah, I guess so!" Linaer flung open the closet door in the washroom, and pulled out a pristine white table cloth. "But you're speaking of Barad'dûr!"

Linaer shuddered as the room darkened and grew inexplicably warm.

"What of Barad'dûr?"

Clutching the folded table cloth to her chest, Linaer turned. Squinting she peered into darkness on the opposite side of the room, where the dim light from the doorway failed to reach. Occasionally she thought she could make out the coiling smoke, but she couldn't be certain, and now probably wasn't the best time to be playing peekaboo with former dark lords.

She ran her words over in her head. Yes, they could have been offensive, and apparently they had been.

He had built a city that looked evil, and had been filled with it…. Would calling his evil looking fortress evil make him happy or upset him? If he'd been aiming for that outcome, it would probably appease him, but if the city's overall appearance had been nothing more than the result of his very interesting taste in design, it might not help.

"Sorry."

She didn't really sorry, but it was probably best to keep her lips sealed for the moment.

"All I've ever heard is how dark the stone was." It was a terrible excuse, but it was true. When people were bored and critiquing old architecture they critiqued Barad'dur as they did many other cities. The dark stone was always the first thing to come up, often before the builder was mentioned. The city's size had earned it a few favorable points, but in the end it was forgotten; buried beneath the splendor of Minas Tirith.

"I assumed the inside was similar to the outside." Full of darkness, disgruntled orcs, and sharp stabbing things that probably served as parting gifts for any guests he may have entertained.

"Thy ignorance is expected…."

Linaer didn't like the way his voice trailed off, and she was pretty sure the potatoes needed to be flipped again….

"I didn't mean to offend you."

Zigûr smirked. There was edge of guilt in her voice, which suited him fine. For there to be manipulation there had to be emotions on which to build.

"Yes, I built Barad'dûr with the intent making a statement. I was a Dark Lord then, and I wanted the world to see me for what I was. I couldn't have been anything else. But the Dark Tower was my home and whether thou art willing to believe or not, there was no finer place for one to spend their days. But of course thou wouldst not be privy to that, as I did not have the pleasure of entertaining many guests, and few of them ever bothered to leave for undo amounts of time. There is something to be said for waking up at the top of the world, surrounded by gold and mahogany, silk and velvet, with the most delectable foods and wines; tempting to even the pickiest palette, waiting on a nearby tray."

He moved forward, until he was sure she could see him. He hovered over her like the blackest of storm clouds, content to stare down at her.

"Appearances are often deceiving."

The girl frowned.

"And I believe there may be something burning-"

The girl was gone, the sound of her naked feet thumping across the wood to rescue her beloved 'art' trailing behind her. Zigûr uttered a quick laugh before trailing after her.

* * *

Much to Linaer's relief the potatoes had browned a bit more than they ought to, but had not burned. She doused them in black pepper before sprinkling them in celebratory paprika. She'd saved them in the nick of time, and she had a former dark lord to thank for that…sort of. Maybe. She wished she could have offered him some, just to see what he thought of the food he'd rescued.

He was up in the rafters again, and periodically she glanced upward at her resident smoke cloud. She stirred the soup, and checked on the bread loaves; wheat, cinnamon raison, and rye. Then like a mother hen, she hovered a few other things she had yet to but in the oven above the fire.

Unable to do anything more, she turned her attention to the table where she'd thrown the piled white cloth in a heap in her haste to save the potatoes.

She unfurled it and watched it billow out before trapping air as it fell across the table. Zigur scowled. The air from the waved table cloth had turned his smoke resembling fea into turbulent sea of darkness.

The air was filled with all manner of delicious scents and smells, and Zigûr wished he could indulge in food, not because he needed food, but because it would have felt good to distract himself from the world in such a wonderful way. Food was something he'd always enjoyed. It kept his mind and hands occupied when he needed to escape from the world. He almost envied the mortals that would be sitting at that table later. It didn't help that he caught Linaer taking exaggeratedly deep breaths from the time, with a smile on her face. How was it fair that so small a thing could delight her and that he could partake?

He'd have a physical body soon enough. When his master returned he'd be healed, and the world would be set straight. The first spare moment he had afterward; he was going to eat.

"Zigûr, where do you think the food should go, in relation to the vases?"

In a silent mass of tattered black smoke cloud, Zigûr descended, and covered the table in a dark shroud.

"Thou wisheth for all the flowers to be on the table. I think thou ought to start with those, and center the food around them…."

Linaer watched as the former Dark Lord drew back to hover a short distance away. Under his gaze she went about setting the table as she was able to.

"Three live this house. Why dost thou set the table for four?"

Zigûr was met with a wicked grin. "Oh I thought you might have changed your mind about the secrecy thing… you are our guest after all, and I'd hate to see you cooped up in my room." Linaer's voice held nothing but sarcasm.

"I've cooked too much food, and my mother's going to have a cow, and then some, when she sees this, so I'm trying to weasel my way out of deep trouble into milder trouble."

"Ah. If thou wert already aware, why then did thou feel the need to do this?"

Linaer fixed the smoke cloud with a steady gaze. "I'm an artist. One of my desires in life has been to cook a feast, and unless I do so soon, I may likely never have the chance. The trouble's worth it, and besides, with all this food we'll need an extra mouth at the table this evening. And my mother's pregnant…" In an instant Linaer's eyes lit with excitement, now burned with cold fury. "I'll have a younger sibling that I'll never get to meet, because your bloody Master has such an impeccable sense of timing."

She flung a spoon at him, and they both watched as it passed through harmlessly and clattered against the wall and floor.

"Why! Why?! What does he hope to gain destroying everything? What do you hope to achieve?"

Here was tirade Zigûr had thought he'd miraculously avoided. Next would come the 'I hate yous' and 'Do know about loves' and the 'how could yous.' Linaer may very well have uttered any one or all of those if a squeal from the window hadn't cut her off the moment she opened her mouth again.

Face suddenly pale, she looked toward the window. "My family's back. You need to go." She shot him a glare hoping to make the message that 'this conversation is far from over', was clear. Zigûr didn't bother to respond to her, and he quietly departed, sinking into the cool darkness of the girl's closet. Even in her room, he could clearly smell cinnamon and sausage, among other mouthwatering scents. His nonexistent stomach grumbled.

* * *

Hastily Linaer threw sausages and sautéed onions and peppers into a bowl. She dumped a pot of rice into another bowl. She grabbed a tray of cookies, fought them out of the tray she'd cooked them in, and dumped them on a plate. The last steps were to put the food items on the table, wait, and get yelled out, preferably in that order.

Her wait wasn't long, and her mother's eyes narrowed into slits of black ice as she stared at the table laden in food.

"What is the meaning of this?" Her mother's voice was deadly soft. She wondered if Zigûr was listening and how willing he'd be to rescue her if or when her mother decided to rip her head off.

Linaer shifted her feet. "I was thinking we could invite Balakân for lunch. I'm just really excited, and I wanted to make cookies to celebrate your happiness, but I got a little carried away, and … you know…."

"Cookies!" Elwin scampered into the house with Spook in her arms. She unceremoniously dropped the cat, and scrambled to the table, grabbing for the sweets.

Linaer felt like she was shrinking under her mother's glare, and her mother by comparison was growing larger. Elwin despite her cuteness, wasn't helping matters.

"Uh, Elwin…" Linaer's voice was an anxious whisper. She didn't dare take her eyes off her mother. "Did you leave any groceries outside?"

"Oh right!" With a cookie firmly in hand Elwin flounced out the door.

Alone with her mother once more, the air was growing incredibly thick and tense. "Send for him." Her mother's voice was a cold and furious command. Without a word Linaer ran passed her trying to give her as wide a space as possible as if she might strike at her with a lightning bolt or something.

Spine tingling and hackles quivering Linaer ran down the street a ways, until her house was out of site. Slowing to a walk she tried to convinvce herself that if her mother knew the end was coming Linaer's binge cooking would have been overlooked or maybe even appreciated. She wasn't in the wrong. The end was coming, and why shouldn't she have been trying to knock as many things off her bucket list as possible?

Her reasoning didn't make the guilt go away. It made her feel worse, if anything. Shouldn't her mother know what was coming? But if she told her mother what was coming, she'd have to explain how she knew, and Zigûr's threat toward her sister still hung in the air.

Her head was spinning, and her shoulders were slumped when she stepped to the house Balakân stayed in. She heard the barking of his dogs through the door. It was very nice of the resident family to permit him to stay.

"Who-good morning Linaer!"

Linaer forced a smile. "Good morning Lômiphel. I'm looking for Balakân. Is he here?"

"Yeah he should be… let me go see."

Lômiphel disappeared into the dim confines of her home, leaving Linaer to stand at the door, not she minded. Lômiphel was nice, but Linaer had often found her company to be rather dull. The girl was soft-spoken and demure, while possessing a strange fondness for books and silence that stood in stark contrast with Linaer's entire life. She'd never been fond of silence or books, and she'd leaned a long time ago, demure people got stepped on.

"Hoho! My dear Linaer!"

Linaer's forced smile turned into a real one as Balakân appeared in the hall, dressed in a tan shirt and dark pants. He hugged her the moment he slipped outside the door. "How's your mother?"

"She's wonderful! In fact she's invited you to lunch. I sort went overboard with the cooking this morning, and we need help eating it."

At that the ranger laughed. "Perhaps, Azrubêl's family had better join us then. I haven't had a chance to pay them in full yet, and a good cooked meal might be a good way to do it, before I meet with the boys from Minas Tirith, and head east.

"What? Why are you leaving? You can't leave!"

Her mother would need him very much in the days to come. And with the world's end nearly upon them, he couldn't possibly go east and abandon them all.

"Hey, hey, hey…" Linaer sighed as he gripped her shoulders. "I'll be leaving in nine days, and I'll be back in two months, assuming all goes well-" Linaer winced. "And- and it will." He hurried to explain. "It's just a routine border patrol; nothing to trouble your pretty head over, really."

Linaer forced another smile. "Right." _Wrong… so, so wrong…._

"Tell your Mother I'll be over in a bit."

He kissed the side of her head before sending her on her way.

* * *

The shouting was impressive. Linaer's mother could rant with the best of them, and Zigûr was very curious as to what Linaer may have been saying, if she had been slain at some point during the tirade. Then there had been loud knocking, and a chorus of voices soon filled the house and seeped into Linaer's horribly pink room.

Recognizable words faded in out of a sea of laughter and mumbling, and he contented himself to study the intricate threading of some frilly lace attached to the sleeve of one of Linaer's dresses. It was white, ruffled, the patterns within it appeared to be flowers, and there were pearls that were really little more than glass threaded into it.

His fascination with that lasted half a second longer, before he looked up to find something else, only to experience frustration at the lack of organization of the room. He couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't do anything at all.

If only his Master could come. If only… he longed to have hands of his own, to shape the world about him into beautiful forms, to wield a sword again, to lift a hammer and send it swinging downward in a song of whistling air, ringing metal, and flowers of sparks.

A horrible cacophony of tearing, snarling, ripping, and other indistinguishable sounds no less terrible resounded in the pink frilly hell of Linaer's room. All were sounds that no mortal could hear. It was the sound of a spirit torturing itself in absolute silence.

At least one of the cats slipped in to keep him company.

Only when the pain of Zigûr's thoughts were buried beneath a dull throbbing of a different sort, the ripping, and shredding, and slashing, and spiritual destruction did he finally fall still. Every shred of his own dark smoky essence wilted until he'd shrunken into the farthest reaches of an adolescent girl's closet.

He wished his Master had already appeared….

A faint mewl rose form the bed, and despite himself he looked up, into those eyes. Into those horribly familiar eyes. The emotions he's thought he'd spent while tearing himself apart rose up in a furious wave, that would have let him shaking had he possessed a physical body.

_"Go away you filthy little beast."_ The words were a pained desperate hiss. He just wanted to be left alone, without so much as his own thoughts to bother him.

The cat didn't leave. It didn't respond. It just laid there watching him with cracked orange eyes. He looked away before he did anything more to himself.

All he had to do was wait. Wait for his master to arrive and his initial fury to be unleashed against the world, then he'd leave. He'd be rid of the annoying mortal girls, the turbulent emotions, his uselessness, and those horrid eyes.

* * *

"Ahh, that's finally over." Linaer's voice cut through the silence of her room. Zigûr stirred, pulling himself together to hide his freak-out. Not wishing to bring any attention to his current condition he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Thy cooking made the house smell sweet, but I wonder if the food was sweeter still, or more likely a pale imitation of its bouquet."

Linaer's face shifted from startled and offended to a smirk. "If you get yourself a flesh-body between now and the end, I'll cook for you and you can make that decision for yourself."

"Oh wilt thou?" From the darkness Zigûr smirked. "I've eaten meals prepared by Maiar and plucked fruits from Lady Yavanna's trees in Valinor."

Linaer shut her door before making to her bed. "Why even bother to taunt me? Clearly I am outmatched by the Gods. But I could probably best the mortals that have prepared for you thus far."

At that Zigûr uttered a short laugh. "Thinkest thou can outdo even the haled chefs of Numenor?"

Linaer smirked. "I'll consider that my challenge-"

"Linaer who are you talking to!?"

Both Linaer and Zigûr froze. The former dark lord's narrowed at the panic stricken teen.

"…Myself!" With that Linaer hurried to her bedroom door to face her mother, while Zigûr sunk into the depths of the closet.

"I'm talking to myself… sort of." Linaer bit her lip stealing a sideways glance into her room. "I met a boy while I was cutting the flowers from the garden…." It was a total lie.

"You met a young man in our garden today!?" Her mother's glee at the prospect of her daughter finally getting married shoved aside all her questions about her daughter's solo conversation.

_Yeah, I met a young man in our garden, because handsome men just pop out of holes in the ground. _Linaer couldn't say why or how her mind suddenly turned to dwarves. And there she was in some Dwarven hall, surrounded by gems and jewels with her dwarf lover. In his strong arms, she sat, braiding his beard much to his displeasure. Maybe she could weave in some flowers-

She almost laughed, but she kept her composure enough to smile a bit wider.

"Oh he must be a very special lad to make you smile so! Bring him to dinner-!"

"What?!" Linaer opened and closed her mouth, unable to utter a word, and she was positive she could hear snickering from her closet. "Mother, I barely know him-!"

"And I don't know him at all," her Mother snapped.

"But isn't that a bit soon?" She hadn't met a guy. How was she supposed to conjure one up for a dinner and interrogation session?

"If it had been a bit soon, you would have married at eleven. You're sixteen."

"Yes, but-I-I-I... we- yes Mother. The next time I see him I'll discuss dinner with him." _Maybe a few horror stories about will send my fantasy dwarf running for the mountains._

"I'm so proud. I knew you wouldn't let your sister down!"

Linaer stifled a groan as her mother sailed down the hall, carried on wings of happiness.

"I am so dead… how do I properly hold a pillow to my face again?"

Linaer looked helplessly toward her closet where the darkness within was chuckling. "You…this is you're fault!"

"My fault! Thou art severely mistaken. Twas not I who lied to thy mother," Zigûr grinned at the distraught teen shoving that blasted cat from her bed. "Your smile by the way has very convincing."

"Oh, was it? I just thinking about braiding flowers in the beard of a cute dwarf. I didn't realize she mistook my dwarf fantasy for fondness over a real boy..."

"Thou hast dwarf fantasies?" Linaer could hear the silent 'yuck' he omitted from his question.

"No… I prefer cats actually. Come here Ea!" She scooped the cat, who'd been in the midst of a bath, up from the floor and set him in her lap. "I like cats don't I? Yes I do!" She kissed the cat's face and head ignoring its baleful whines, recoiling only when it tried to swipe at her.

In that moment Zigûr and the cat with those horrid eyes shared a moment of understanding. What she'd just done to the feline had shamed the poor the creature, and as a general lover of cats with the exception of that one, Zigûr sympathized. If he'd been a cat…. She let the cat leap from her lap, and indignantly slip through the cat flap before its mistress decided to torture it again.

"Cats are such noble creatures, and thou hast disgraced one so horribly."

"Noble?" Linaer snorted. "Say that the next time you catch one licking its butt."

"And thou thought kissing such a creature was a good idea?"

To that Linaer didn't know how to respond.


	7. Manipulation

**Author's Note: So my dog licks people's feet. My neighbor's cat (the one Ea is based off of) lays on top of people's feet. This is how they both typically greet people.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own a cat. T_T Or Sauron!**

* * *

**Manipulation**

Linaer was typically an early riser. She woke before her mother to slip into the washroom and change, before sneaking back into her room to doze, read a book, ignore Zigûr, or annoy Zigûr. He found her very bizarre habit of leaving to change rather annoying on principle, since it was clear it had to do with more than him and he still hadn't figured out what the rest of it was about. Then there was the fact that she lounging on her side, splayed out across the short length of the bed; idly scratching the head of that peach coloured tabby with its horrid orange eyes, with far more ease than anyone should have ever felt in his presence- even before he became a dark lord. At least she appeared more at ease than any sane person would in his company.

And she'd jumped right back onto the topic of his former master as he assumed she would at some point.

"So why do you want to rejoin Him?"

Zigûr looked away from her, though if he were being honest with himself it was her cat he was turning away from.

"There are many reason why I wish to rejoin him. If thou wert smart, thou would consider doing the same."

There was a silence, and then he heard the rustling of blankets as the girl shifted. "Uh… thanks for the invitation, but I'll have to pass on that. And I have no interest in doing what I'm told by a person who can't give me a straight answer."

He glared at her then, and cat opened its orange eyes, as Linaer bit her lip, but refused to look away.

"Thou art but a child, and such things are beyond thy ken. It would do thee well to drop the subject…" He leaned out the closet turning his voice into a soft hiss. "Many have paid terribly to understand what is beyond them-"

"Of course I don't understand!" She snapped, with a glare of own. The room got hotter.

Not in a very long time had he met one who dared to speak him such an insolent manner, but despite his fury he kept most of his wrath in check because he was curious as to what she had to say.

"I don't understand how an artist who had all the freedom in the world to create whatever he wanted could give up his ingenuity to serve another. And I don't understand how a Maia; a being that's supposed to all-that-is-good incarnate could fall so low. How would anyone understand any of that?" She frowned at the cat's head. "Except for you…."

"Thou hast hardly a notion of freedom. In this house thou sits waiting for things to come to head. Thou art trapped in a room with trappings that are no longer thine, doting upon a little sister who is loved by her mother, awaiting the day thy mother throws you to a man who in all likelihood thou will not know or until thou hast no choice but to run in order to escape an arranged marriage and then thou wilt live the guilt of disobeying thy mother's wishes and abandoning thy sister." He smirked at the open expression of horror and guilt that crossed her face- the way she flinched and momentarily looked away. "And thou presumes to speak to me of freedom-?"

"We're not talking about me," Linaer snarled, making to stand. She needed to get air or she'd roast. She wasn't more than a few steps from her bed when an ominous black cloud silently appeared in front and above her. "We were talking about You."

She was starting to sweat, and now the need to reach cooler air was stronger than before. She could try to run through him… and risk burning?

"Perhaps thou would like to sit down…."

Linaer scowled at him, shaking her head. Prying had been a really bad plan. Why couldn't she have just dropped it…?

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not free, but I didn't…"_sell my soul for power. _She trailed off. If her prying didn't get her killed that statement would have.

"You didn't what?" Zigur's voice turned icy soft- a complete mockery of the shimmery air crackling around him. Linaer staggered back, bumping the bed before crawling across it.

She felt like she'd spent the entire day under a summer sun. Roiling smoke followed a short distance. The cat leapt from the bed and bolted out the door.

"What is that you didn't do?" He repeated, ignoring the feline's departure.

"I-" She watched the cat flap swaying. So much for stories about loyal pets…. "I-" She couldn't lie. She wasn't Elwin, and even if she could lie, how could she fool Zigûr? "I-it's not important. It would have been lie if I'd said it." It very well may have been a lie, for all she knew. She couldn't look at him though.

"Thou art a miserable liar." Zigûr's voice was still soft, but had taken a mocking tone.

Linaer sucked in a breath as black smoke encroached. He wasn't surrounded by hazy air like before, but the closeness was uncomfortable.

"Linaer! Lin!" Elwin's voice called from outside the door.

Ice filled Linaer's blood as she looked at the door. Swallowing an icicle Linaer gave the menacing smoke cloud hovering over her the darkest glare she could. He'd swooped the corner between the dresser and a bookcase.

"Lin!" Elwin pulled open the door. "Can we have pancakes for breakfast? Mother bought syrup last time we were out." She looked toward the shelves smiling. "Good morning Zigûr."

Her big blue pancake craving puppy eyes returned to Linaer, who was mentally giving thanks to any deities in earshot that Elwin hadn't walked in any sooner.

"Uh…"Linaer glanced at the dark cloud. "Yes."

Elwin beamed, and jumped on the bed to give Linaer a hug, only to recoil. "Eww, you're wet…" She poked a few strands of hair plastered to Linaer's forehead.

"Well, good morning to you too." Linaer swiped at her forehead where Elwin had poked her. "It's hot in here if you haven't noticed. Now go get dressed, and then you can help me make those pancakes."

Elwin pouted and then grinned. "Can we put berries or chocolates in them?"

Uttered a laugh Linaer ruffled Elwin's hair. "Sure."

"Bye Zigûr!" Elwin scrambled to the door, only to hesitate. "You can eat with us you like-"

"Thy sister has already…" Linaer bit the inside of her cheek as she felt Zigûr looking at her. "Promised me a meal."

Elwin frowned at the shadowy mass before shrugging. "Okay." She slipped out the door.

Heaving a sigh of relief Linaer fell on her back.

"I promised you a meal."

She stared at the rafters above, frowning as a few tendrils of smoke entered her vision.

"Surely thou hast not forgotten-"

"No, I remember…." She closed her eyes suddenly feeling tired. "Why did you sacrifice your art for Him?"

"Why dost thou think I sacrificed my art?" Despite his anger and irritation it was a strange thing to hear someone refer to his work as art. It was an out of place compliment he hadn't heard since- a face with orange eyes flashed across his mind- he uttered a sigh feeling a dull upwelling of the emotions from a few days before.

"Are you saying you didn't sacrifice your art to join him?"

Zigûr stared down at intent grey eyes. She called his work art, despite knowing of some of the horrors he'd made. The ring was a prime example. She must have known of the ring, though he suspected she knew a bit more about his metallurgy than that. Art. The last time he'd heard a work of his own hands called art Morgoth had not been his master.

"My art was the reason I joined him initially." He liked her calling his work art. He hadn't much to be proud of lately, and it did feed his ego, thou it brought along with it a sense of melancholy and frustration. He'd always needed to keep his hands busy. Creation helped stave off his anxiety, and he didn't even have hands to use. "To make anything and everything I desired without interruption was my desire. It was through him my art had the greatest chance of flourishing." As an afterthought he added. "He wasn't evil at the time."

The girl was frowning up at him contemplatively. "That's…" she bit her lip. "Not what I thought you were going say."

That he could have guessed. She was still mulling it over, perhaps trying to decide if he'd been honest or not. There was no point in lying about it, especially since it was a trait they apparently shared-even if the culinary arts weren't what he'd consider art- because it would be easier for her to humanize him if she thought she could relate to him. Then manipulation was easy.

"Lin I'm ready!" A loud voice called from down the hall.

The girl sighed and sat up, still looking up at him. "I guess that's my cue." She slipped out leaving him alone.

He descended, settling over the bed in a roiling mass of darkness. He couldn't actually lay on the bed, only hover over, but he could feel the heat from where the girl had lain.

Art. The word was dancing around in his head. He hadn't expected to hear it spoken about anything of his in a very long time. But then his crafts had never been called art. Art had been works of another smith's hands: one who'd often stared back at him in a clear pool of water or a silver mirror with fiery eyes and elongated pupils. One that was admired rather than abhorred-

The shifting of the cat flap caught his attention, and he grit his nonexistent teeth as he looked down into the eyes of that peach tabby.

_Mairon._

It slunk around the bed watching him before leaping onto a bookcase, knocking a doll to the floor with a loud crack as it flopped in a line of sun provided by a crack in the curtains. From there it alternated between looking at him and out the slit of window, before closing its inner eyelids and dozing.

* * *

**Okay, so Lin's bothered Sauron enough. It's his turn to ask the questions next chapter, so some of her quirks will be explained. ;D I'm updating the spoilers on my profile.**


	8. The Poet and the Liar

**Author's Note: Alright. Sauron's back and so is Linaer. It's been a while. :D So here's a long one!**

**Disclaimer: I do not make form of profit writing this **_**FAN**_**fic.**

* * *

**The Poet and the Liar**

The ceiling's tan wood stood in sickening contrast with the rest of the frilly pink bedroom. But Linaer paid it little heed as she mulled over her predicament. She needed to find a boy, and invite him to dinner. She should be out trying to accost one and drag him to dinner, but that would be highly inappropriate. Even asking a boy to dinner after a first meeting was odd, but she hadn't actually met one. If she'd kept her mouth shut and hadn't added on with "we just met" she could have convinced a friend to play along. She ran her hands down her face with a grumble.

"This is great."

Darkness appeared in the edge of her vision. "Thy mother pursues quite doggedly the things she wants."

Linaer nodded wordlessly. He had no idea how stubborn her mother was. She closed her eyes. Taking a nap seemed like such a great idea. Maybe she could feign illness and get out if this debacle, and sleep her cares away for a little while. She liked that idea.

Uttering a sigh she curled onto her side, turning her back on the darkness hovering nearby. It would have been a lot weirder falling asleep with him there, if he'd possessed a physical body. A very sudden and unwelcomed burn spread across her cheeks as she envisioned a flaming eyeball peeping in people's windows at night along with the word voyeuristic.

Coughing to stifle the sudden peel of snorting and laughter that would have ensued she desperate thought of a distraction.

"So!" She sat up trying to bite down on the sheepish smile threatening to give her curious mind away. If he noticed the change her mood he was nice enough not to comment.

"So!" she repeated. She was such an idiot. "Um… do you have any hobbies?"

"Hobbies?" Zigûr's voice was laced with suspicion. "Why dost thee wish to know?"

Linaer shrugged, frowning. "I don't know. I just can't imagine, that plotting world domination was all you did. You had to do something between wars. Did you read? Write poetry? Play board games? Indulge in your arts? Patronize other people's art? Go for long walks in the hinter lands? I just can't imagine you sat around twiddling your thumbs for years on end…." _Did you watch people at night?_ Her face flushed and she looked away, positive he's noticed. And if hadn't seen that…

Zigûr regarded her quietly; unsure of her intent, but positive she was looking for a specific answer. Her sudden blush was interesting, as was her sudden discomfort. It wasn't fear though. She wasn't smart enough to fear him beyond his threat to her sister… so embarrassment was likely the true cause of her suddenly being unable to look at him… in light of the question a few possibilities leapt to mind.

"I have done all those, though not always for amusement's sake."

The girl looked up at him with a quizzical look. "Really?" She frowned up at him in uncertainty.

"What is it that thou thinketh I have not done?"

Cheeks still stained a warm pink, the girl looked away. "The Lord of Mordor actually wrote poetry: iambic pentameter, sonnets, odes, and all that?"

Linaer frowned up at the smoke cloud. She was positive that poetry was something he would scoffed at the mere mention of. His silence however was making her doubt that assumption, and she was suddenly very nervous about the words he was going to say next. She didn't have to wait long.

"_One ring to rule them all. One ring to find them. _

_One ring to rule them all and in the darkness bind them."_

Linaer paled at the hint of smugness in Zigûr's voice. "Hast thou never noticed the meter and the rhyme?"

"But that's an incantation. That's not same at all." She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe a former dark lord considered himself a poet. There were so many things wrong with that notion- and she had a feeling that she'd managed to offend him on top of that.

"Ash nazg gimb-"

"No, no, no! Stop!" Linaer waved her hands at him as her room filled with darkness and his voice took on a hideous and grating edge.

"Linaer, what sort of fantasies are you having to make you shout no so profusely?" Linaer's mother asked rather loudly from right outside the door. A sharp sound of panic escaped Linaer's throat as she looked between Zigûr and the door.

"I-I-" No other choked words managed to slither from her throat. "I…"

"I'm practicing my groveling!" Linaer's heart just about leapt from her chest. It was her voice calling to her mother, but it wasn't coming out her. "So that I'll be able to beg properly when you begin to ask him embarrassing questions or tell him embarrassing stories about me!"

Linaer's mother laughed. "Would I embarrass you?"

Stunned, horrified, and unable to wrap her head around the sound of her voice emanating from a smoke cloud she sat frozen on the bed.

She sensed his gaze on her, and after a second she recalled her mother's question, and gave him a wide eyed nod. Yes her mother would definitely embarrass her. The idea of boundaries was not a concept her mother had ever familiarized herself with.

"No probably not, but I thought it best not to take chances!"

The voice Zigûr was using sounded just like hers, and she could or would have probably said something like that if irritated enough...if slightly less formally…still, his impressionism was enough to convince her mother, someone that had known her for all her life…. Linaer grew stiff with cold as her mother laughed before assuring the former Lord of Mordor that she would do no such thing.

It was too much to take in, and it left her increasingly uncomfortable. She'd assumed, given his condition, that he was powerless, but if he had the power to do that, what else could he do? What had he already done? She'd underestimated him, and that could have gotten her killed…or Elwin….

She could feel him staring at her. He had no eyes that she could see, but she could feel his gaze. Everything passing through her mind written upon her face, and it was too late to hope to hide any of it. His gaze was unsettling, the silence permeating the room was stifling and awkward, and the knowledge that he was not as powerless as she'd thought was terrifying.

On top of it she got the sense that he was waiting for her to say something, and she had no idea what to say.

* * *

"Poor mother," Elwin mumbled through a mouthful of cookie. "She's not happy about Dad leaving."

"Dad?" Linaer frowned as Elwin hopped onto her bed spilling crumbs onto the quilt. "Why don't you call him that to his face, or in front of Mother- they'd both be pleased."

Elwin squirmed as her eyes welled up. "'Cause Mother cries every time we talk about Father in front of her, and Father might be jealous of Balakân if I call him Dad in front of Mother, and I don't want Father mad at me."

"Elwin." Linaer pulled her sister into her lap as she cried. She shot a warning glare into the closet where she could see roiling smoke. "Father loved you." She wiped at one of Elwin's moist cheeks. "Just because you call Balakân Dad, doesn't mean that Father's been replaced. Love makes the heart grow and it will always be large enough to hold all the people you care about. Besides, Father would want you to be happy. He would want Mather to have someone strong to protect her, and someone kind looking after you."

Linaer rocked back and forth holding her sister close. In the back of her head she worried if the dark mass in the closet would use this conversation against them, but it was done now. She doubted he'd have much interest in tormenting them with this, but she still worried.

Heavy silence filled the room, but not Linaer's head, as memories of her father, thoughts her mother, Elwin, Balakân, the impromptu feast she'd made, Sauron's unwanted presence in her closet, and the impending end of the world all swirled together into one seamless quagmire of sound and sight.

No great epiphanies sprung from it. Nothing changed. She was still a sixteen year old sitting on her bed aware of the end before she'd really begun. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to her, and it certainly wasn't fair to children such as Elwin who really hadn't seen much of the world.

Sighing, she rested her cheek on top of Elwin's head.

It felt like waking up when Linaer was pulled back to reality by Elwin squirming to get out of her arm as her voice cut through the silence.

"Zigûr, if you died, would you want someone looking after your family?"

"Elwin-!" Linaer reached out to pull the girl back and throttle her into silence.

"Yes."

The darkness in the closet shifted. Linaer bit the inside of her cheek, wondering. His answer had been immediate. Swift enough in the telling to have been honest, if he'd ever had a family. If…. He'd been around for thousands of years… maybe he'd had one once. Surely the lore masters and books she'd read in the past didn't know more about Sauron than Sauron did. Or, perhaps it was a lie, and he felt like humoring the girl.

It was probably the latter.

Elwin sat frowning at the navy blue quilt. "It's sad the bad guys took away your family. When you find them, if you want, you can bring them here. Linaer wouldn't mind, and if the bad guys ever try to hurt you Lin's good with a frying pan." Elwin offered her sister a bright grin. From where he stood- though hovered would have been the operative word despite Zigûr's distaste for its accuracy- he could see mortification clearly etched into the older girl's face, which she promptly dropped into her hands. Elwin didn't notice as her attention had already returned to him. "Did you have any kids?"

An audible groan emanated from behind Linaer's hands and Zigûr uttered a laugh. "Thou art most generous child, but I think thy sister would mind. It would be rude to steal thy sister's closet, and I doubt my family could tolerate such cramped quarters."

He smirked at the grey eyes peeking at him from between pale fingers.

"I have children. Nine sons to be precise, the youngest of which is far older than you." There was mourning in Zigûr's voice as he spoke.

Elwin pouted, as if hoping she would have been able to play with any of them.

Anxiously Linaer stared into the darkness and light creases between her fingers as she listened to the insane conversation in front of her. It was apparent to her now that He was humoring the girl, because the nine Zigûr referred to had not been his sons, and they had been dead from the world for a long time.

Elwin really needed to be quiet and Linaer really wanted to leave, or throw out the shadowy mass hovering before her closet.

"Bed time Elwin!"

Linaer uttered a silent prayed of thaniks to Eru, as Elwin slid off the bed grumbling, before minding her tongue and yelling, "Yes Mother." A pout still curling her lip. "I never get to stay up and have fun."

Linaer snickered, much to her sister's annoyance. "That's not true at all and you know it."

"But you get to talk to Zigûr more than I do."

The boiling smoky haze across from them was mercifully silent. He probably didn't care for the situation any more than Linaer did. He probably hated it more.

"Come on Elwin! Let your sister have some peace!" Their mother's voice sounded outside the door. Zigûr slipped into the closet in time to narrowly avoid being seen, as the lady of the house opened the door.

"Linaer." From his corner Zigûr got his first good look of the girls' mother, and he was rather taken aback. She was an older auburn haired green-eyed older image of her eldest daughter. Elwin bore a semblance to her as well, but when she grew older, if she lived that long after Morgoth's return would have much sharper features than her mother or her sister. "I think it'd be best if you went to bed as well." Her eyes drifted to the closet and a frown furrowed her brow.

The girls felt their blood freeze. Zigûr silently cursed his smoky spiritual blackness and his sense of curiosity. There was a reason he'd been sheltering in the opposite side of the closet. That side couldn't be peered into from the door.

"Yes Mother?" Linaer asked, trying desperately not to look toward the closet.

Her mother snapped back to attention. "Don't mind me. I was going to say about have a big night tomorrow, and I couldn't help but notice that peach dress- how pretty you'd look wearing it."

Zigûr watched as both girls tensed- one with excitement, and the other dread.

"What's Lin's big night? What is it?"

"Your sister met a boy."

Elwin looked down at the floor for a moment before looked up at Linaer with excitement. "Am I going to be an aunt?" She was practically bouncing, and for a brief moment Zigûr almost felt bad for the older girl. Almost. But she asked far too many annoying question while leaving him too many unanswered, and Elwin and her mother were too amusing and disturbing for him to really focus on anything else.

"Elwin, I don't even know the guy." Linaer ground the words out.

Elwin frowned, but the mother was undeterred. "But you will. We all will. Now off to bed with you." Their mother waved Elwin from the room.

"Goodnight darling."Linaer and her mother hugged each other. "Goodnight Mother."

* * *

When she was alone once more, Linaer flopped onto the mattress for the second time that day, pulling the pillow over her head. "After a long while, Zigûr deemed it safe enough to creep forward out of the closet. "I know not which option is more prudent: to offer my condolences for the chaotic mess thy life soon will be, or to offer little council I may, assuming thee desires help in the first place."

The pillow shifted, obscuring Linaer's eye but not her frowning mouth. "Can you offer me silence? Can I forget for one evening that you're here?" The pillow covered the entirety of her face once more.

Zigûr glared at her smokily, but didn't respond. It wasn't often he was met with such insolence. The pillow shifted again, and Linaer's voice rang out. "In regards to committing suicide, all I have to do is press down really hard right?"

Her grey eyes peaked over the pillow at him.

"Yes..." He frowned down at her. She gave him a brief nod and buried her face again. Her hands hung over the pillow momentarily, before slowly lying on top of it and pressing down. He chuckled and approached until he was next to her.

"Twas a lie." He whispered from less than a foot away. "Thou would pass out long before thou succeeded in ending thy life."

Linaer waved the pillow staring as the black smoke churned and wafted a few inches away. She watched intrigued, before her face lit up with realization and a wicked grin curled her lips. Wind could move him. She'd guessed as much the first day they'd met, but she hadn't been able to prove it. And now…she could throw open the windows and send him on his way. She probably would have done so, but…a very uncomfortable feeling wormed its way into her gut, followed by a voice in her head asking why it even mattered. What if…all this time…he'd been alone-imprisoned by the wind?

It didn't make a difference. It shouldn't have made a difference. He was evil, horrible, monstrous, and while he hadn't done anything to her or her family as far as she could tell, that didn't mean he wouldn't.

Zigûr scowled down at the girl wondering if she'd throw open a window now that she knew. He couldn't really stop her, but he'd try. Already, he could see the faint gleam of sweat on her brow. Several threats danced on his tongue.

"Is this the first time you've been able to settle in one place?"

Anything the fallen Maia might have said died as he stared down at her. Her triumphant smirk fell, replaced by an expression that did not belong on the face of someone who'd just discovered their enemy's weakness. His glare remained in place though, confused by her sudden demeanor and hating the question.

Yes. He had not been able to settle anywhere for very long, on account of his condition. That's how weak the loss of his ring and the war had made him. He hated his weakness, he hated the loss of his hands even more, and the conversation he'd been denied with other beings hadn't been pleasant. The Void was inconceivable to him-his former Master's imprisonment-because he couldn't imagine anything worse than having the ability to see the world he'd once helped create, that he'd tried to destroy, that he'd tried to conquer, and never being able to touch it. At least in the Void, it was just dark, and if he'd gone there, he wouldn't have been alone-

"It's okay."

Linaer's voice cut him off, and he stared at her, uncaring of how uncomfortable his close proximity was making her, as he tried to figure out what she'd just said.

The girl moved away, as he sneered at her, wishing he could inspire true terror like he used to. Okay? Okay? There was absolutely nothing about this that was okay. Her words were stumbling over themselves before he could he could put his anger into words.

"I-I-I'm n-not going to open any windows or throw you out before you're ready to leave...! Though I-I probably should." If looks could kill people like they used to… her words angered him more, and he had no response to them. Mute with rage and suspicion he watched her suck in a breath. It seemed his lack of speech gave her some mettle to regrow her spine. "No. I definitely should. But…."

She trailed off watching him with a mix of apprehension and distrust. At least she had some fear of him, but not nearly enough- nowhere near enough to improve his mood or make his situation seem better.

He scowled at her every hazy smoky edge of his spirit thrumming with suspicion and anxiety. He didn't know if she was lying or not. Maybe she'd taken his threat against her sister seriously. He couldn't kill anyone- he couldn't kill a worm in his condition. Well he might be able to bake a worm if he hung over it long enough, and if some evil breeze didn't send him soaring before he could finish.

"Why?" His voice was frigid.

Linaer merely stared up at him. She couldn't believe she'd told him that She couldn't believe she was that stupid, but in spite of it all her overly compassionate idiot side had stolen her mouth from her, so not only was it preventing her from sending him like she should have done, it had ruined any chances she had of at least hanging the possibility over his head as a threat. She supposed it was good that he didn't believe it either, if his question and earlier silence was any indication.

"To always be lost, and unable to rest in one place with no control over where I could go and what I could see. That's horrible…." And to exist like that for thousands of years… no wonder he was willing to put up with her and Elwin. What would she be willing to put up with in such a position? Almost anything probably.

She didn't like him. She certainly didn't trust him, and she really did want him gone, but opening a window or two and creating a draft to send him drifting on his way seemed horribly cruel, when he'd been drifting around a few thousand years. It was impossible to even imagine what that must have felt like, what that must have done to him, and then the length of time he'd spent…she shut up the compassionate bug in her head before it did any more damage.

Another long bought of silence passed as Zigûr stared at the fuzzed topped quilt covering the bed and Linaer stared at the desk.

"Do I not deserve it?"

Linaer pursed her lips, as her eyes flickered toward the smoke beside her. He was testing her, probably unsure if she was really as crazy, compassionate, and stupid as she sounded. It was best to keep him uncertain rather than giving him any reason to think she was lying or realizing she really was that psychotically honest. If he ever learned that, he'd have far more control over the situation than he already did, and he had already pulled those strings to his fancy, and she had no reason to doubt he'd turn her compassion against her too.

It didn't help that she didn't know how to answer that question. The compassionate idiot was whispering yes, but logic, common sense, and her fear of him were saying 'no.' She believed them both, and didn't know which she believed more. Waffling over the answer and not wanting to see just how uncertain she was, Linaer turned her head toward the door. Did he deserve it, after all the things he'd done? It was easier to hear the voices when He wasn't in site.

Not trusting herself, she kept her gaze turned elsewhere.

"You do."

A very heavy silence filled the space between them, broken only by the sound of the cat flap and Ea leaping up onto the bed, silently rubbing himself across her arm before flopping down on her pillow and stretching until his soft creamy orange fur seemed to become part of the pillow.

Linaer tore her gaze away from the cat, and focused on the wavering roiling smoke cloud.

She wondered what he was feeling or thinking. It was hard reading the emotions of a shadowy haze that never sat still. To be told he deserved exactly what he'd gotten or what she said she should have done to him- and then to be told by that same person, he wouldn't suffer that fate at their hands, had to be a bit mindboggling.

Zigûr stared at the floor feeling very uncomfortable, especially with the girl staring at him. He didn't know what to make of the situation anymore. He didn't know what to make of himself. Everything was messed up. He returned his gaze to those grey eyes trying to garner what he could. He was still angered, frustrated, and confused by her constant bothering. His confusion was slowly winning out over the others for the moment. He knew she was fairly honest, certainly more so than her sister, but everything she blurted out about the window had to be at least in part a lie or some sort of hollow manipulation technique.

Eventually the girl looked down, finding a loose string in the quilt very interesting, and he watched her fingers idly tangling themselves in the tiny threat. It was an enviable gift, and he did envy her, as she distracted herself by busying her hands. He had no such distraction.

They'd hit a wall, and he had no interest in being the one to break it. It was wrong. It was weak even contemplating it, and it seemed the girl felt similarly, but the little mortal's mother, was a problem that needed to be dealt with.

It had been a long time since he'd dealt with mortals, and even longer since he'd had one on one conversations with them. He didn't recall them being so annoying or confusing-the one fiddling with the strings was especially irritating. But then the last mortal he'd really been close to had been in a torture chamber in Barad'dur- some gangly little creature that'd found his ring, and given him bad directions to the Shire…that fiasco had been a nightmare, and he'd been a fool to let the bugger leave- it was over. The ring was gone, gone as it should never have existed in the first place- the girl looked up at him, and the cat bolted from the bed. That line of thought was ending right there. Nothing good ever came of it.

He wasn't ready to have his cover blown, and while he didn't like being trapped in a closet, he preferred that to being tossed about on the wind. The startled girl he fixed with a deadly glare. She was part of the reason why his situation was so precarious. He was not going to go back to that, if he could help it.

"Do as thy mother bids," he snapped at her. Watching her wide-eyed alarm turn into a scowl. Seeing the fear was enough to make him relax. He hadn't desired to break down that wall, but it was nice, feeling in control.

"What?! Why?"

Insolent and foolish as they came, at least he'd have some fun with this one. The notion that she wasn't going to simply bend over for him would be a pleasant amusement, but it irritated him as well. "Dost thou have a plan then, some means to stifle thy irritating mother's badgering? I sincerely doubt it. Surely if thou have possession of such a weapon, I would have already seen thee use it."

Linaer frowned. He had her there. She had no plan, of any kind, but then planning things had never worked in in favour. "Honestly I have no idea what I'm going to do. If nothing presents itself by tomorrow afternoon I can tell her I lied or… I don't know. I can always try coming up with an equally stupid lie to throw her off. My sister lies to her and gets away with it all the time, so it shouldn't be too hard to pull the wool over her eyes on this one."

To her chagrin Linaer couldn't hide the quaver of uncertainty in her voice. She was not Elwin. She was not so deviously cute and clever to succeed, without a miracle, and it seemed the former Lord of Mordor had come to a similar conclusion, but even still, as foolish and irritating as it was she had no desire to receive his aid. It scared her, especially with the commanding voice he'd used on her.

It was clear to Zigûr that her mother had nearly discovered him this evening, and keeping her preoccupied with a farcical dinner was a good idea. The only thing better than that would be if Elwin became the center of her focus somehow. That would take the woman's eyes away from the closet entirely.

It was the woman's dogged pursuit of her daughter's betrothal that would provide him all the tools he needed to devise a plan.. It was simply a matter of figuring out how best to get the girl to use them that remained. The emotional investment to her older daughter's future well-being could be easily manipulated, twisted to fit his desires. There could not be manipulation without emotion.

Already his mind was reeling, conjuring ideas. They could work, but if the girl's lack of confidence was any indication, she wouldn't be skilled enough to pull them off, so many of them he tossed into the back of his mind to muddle over later.

Imitating her voice had worn him out more than he'd expected, but when she fell asleep he might be able to sing and spark a need for cunning and deception within her mind. That should be doable especially if he could recuperate afterward, but even as he thought it, he knew it wouldn't really more than wishful thinking on his part.

He didn't have the powers that he'd used to, and it had been an age plus a few thousand years since the last time he'd slipped his voice into the dreams and minds of a living being. In fact… it was more like two ages plus a few thousand years. The last time had been the Numenorean kings…. It couldn't hurt to try though. And already he was tired, ready to sleep, and it would be a while after his song before he could rest. It might prove futile, but if it worked that would make things far easier-

Linaer frowned. "It's my problem, not yours. Why are you even offering to help?"She watched as the smoke cloud moved closer, roiling like a small storm about her and above her.

"Thy mother could have discovered me tonight. I have no interest in making myself known so soon. Until I wish for her to know of me, her nose in your business is my problem."

It was all true, though boredom was also part of it. Putting his mind to anything but himself and his predicament was a relief. Always he'd had busy hands and an equally busy mind. While he didn't care about this girl or her family, being able to do something to alleviate his chronic feeling of uselessness was a wonderful sensation.

He could play with these girls. The little one he already had around his finger, and this one wouldn't take much to buy. Even if he hadn't been concerned by his near discovery he could have afforded to throw her a dainty, especially since she knew his weakness, and was…unwilling to use it against him. It was best to keep her in that frame of mind.

Linaer was almost glaring at him. He was being as far she could tell honest, and from The Father of Lies that was disturbing. She hadn't expected him to be serving penance or doing charity work, but he still voluntarily offered her help. The fall of Numenor passed through her mind- all those great kings that had listened to Tar-Mairon's honey coated tongue, unable to see the viperous forked tongue of Sauron underneath.

It seemed he was willing to help, or at the very least offer advice whether she wished to hear it or not, and he did have legitimate reason doing so, or at least he'd given her one, but her fears weren't sated.

His offer didn't change who he was, and she needed to keep that firmly in mind, but even as she thought the warning, a cold feeling filled her stomach. Telling herself to heed it, and actually doing so were two different things, and if the wise kings of Numenor couldn't do it, then what hope did she have.

"With all due respect, I can figure this out on my own. I appreciate your uh… generosity and I know that my Mother freaked you out earlier- she scared us all-but I think I can do this on my own. Really I can." Linaer fiddled with the top her quilt unable to meet the unseen gaze of a smoke cloud.

Zigûr didn't believe her for a moment. She was halfway pleading with him to leave her alone as it was. "Then thou hast made a plan?"

Linaer frowned. "Not exactly, but I'm working on one."

"Thou knowest thy mother best. If thou can manage on thy own, of course, I will not interfere."

The girl's gery eyes turned to ice as she glared at the fallen Maia, knowing she was towing a dangerous line. "I don't trust you. You're up to something and whatever it is I don't like it. You might want to back up into that closet, because I will open a window."

"Thou wouldst so easily go back on thy word?" His voice grew soft, and he would have sweetened it if he could. The darkness came to hover in front her, all about her, roiling with pent up fury and the threat of heat. And some of the smoke near her seemed to be trying to take some sort of shape, a hand or weapon probably.

"I didn't promise I wouldn't. But if you force my hand-"

"So there was a technicality-"

"Leave me alone!" Linaer bit her tongue, lowering her voice, fearing her mother's return. "I'm not a toy to be played with. I don't want your help or to be a part of your schemes."

She wondered if that was exactly how he saw her. It would make sense seeing as he was a fallen lesser god, and she was a tiny mortal by comparison. How did one become an equal in the eyes of someone like him? She had no idea, but she knew he wasn't safe to be around at the moment. The steady rise in temperature was proof enough that she'd tried her luck.

Sucking in a breath, she crawled back and slipped off the bed, not daring to look away from him. Slowly she made her way to the closet, very aware that he was following, never letter her put more than a couple feet between them.

What could he do? How far would he go? He couldn't kill her in his conditions, well unless he had the ability to heat up the air and suffocate her that way...she bit the inside of her cheek. As casually as she could she reached into the closet, searching by feel for a nightgown and clothes for the following day. This was a test of control and resolve. Who had it and who didn't.

Finding what she wanted she pulled the desired attire from her closet a little too swiftly. Cold with dread, and sticky with sweat she watched the smoke cloud freezing, moulding into shapes as Zigûr tried to take some sort of desired form. It didn't seem to be working, but the slight mannish build the roiling darkness momentarily held was enough to make her mouth dry.

"Where art thou going?"

He'd halted less than a foot away, effectively trapping her where she stood, unless she wanted to go deeper into the closet or risk a horrible burning walking through him.

"I'm going to sleep somewhere else."

The roiling of the cloud mass settled, abandoning any attempt to do whatever it had been trying. Zigûr uttered what she was positive was an amused snort.

"No girl." The temperature was cooling, but he'd started moving closer again. And she took a half step back, unsure of what he was going to do. "Thou hast provided me far too much amusement, and I would sorely miss our conversations if thee were to leave."

For a horrible moment, he paused, unsure if he was just playing with her or if he actually meant it. Uncertain and irritated, he glared, abandoning his games. "We have a problem-"

"One that I said I could take care of without your involvement."

Linaer shivered, immediately regretting her words. The air was growing hot again and he was much too close. Way too close. Close enough that she hardly dared to breath.

"If that were true would thee not have already done so?"

Some plans take ample amounts of time before they can be put into action." All except for her lack of a plan the statement seemed sensible enough. But she knew it was coming, the dreaded question.

"And what, little mortal, is your cunning plan?" He mocked her, very well aware that her words were empty.

She shrugged. "To do as my mother bids, but not really. I've managed to avoid bringing home a suitor for about for years, by making things up as I go along rather than having a fixed plan. You may not realize this, but plans-even other people's plans- have a bad habit of falling to pieces when I'm involved."

Zigûr could hardly say he was surprised. The girl was fairly reactionary based on what he'd seen: ruled by emotion rather than reasoning. That could only work for so long, and eventually she'd end up in a situation where emotion and wit could not save her.

"Yes, thy feeble attempts at manipulation leave much to be desired-"

"Is that a good thing though?" She frowned, as her voice once again failed to hide her uncertainty and this time curiosity as well.

"Why dost thou think that could be good? To live unwittingly under threat of other people's wiles?"

Linaer frowned, and she would have looked away if he wasn't surrounding her. "What if…what if it's not-what if I learn this art, become a master of it even-?" He snorted in derision. "What comes after? Paranoia? The constant fear that everything and everyone might be taking advantage of me? I fail to see why that could be called good. And it's not unwitting if I know about it-"

_Fuck! _She was sure expression said something similar to the voice ranting in the back of her head. She'd tried to avoid that, kept it from pouring it out her mouth before only to vomit it up now. She needed to get away, needed to get far far away before her mouth opened and something else came out that shouldn't.

"Thou would rather go on aware of how others have misused thee rather than mastering the skills necessary to avoid it? A toy thou art indeed."

"They'll assume I'm naïve or ignorant, and-"

"Seek to play with thee all the more. Tis lucky for thee, thou fool, that I am so willing to offer up my skills to aid thee. Tis not an offer I make lightly-"

"And the last time you made this offer, it left a country at the bottom of the sea, Eru warping the world into a ball, and you without a body-AH!"

Linaer staggered back into the dresses hanging in the closet, clutching her burning hand to her chest. It hurt. It hurt a lot. And she couldn't bring herself to protectively cover the wound. He hung back, not bothering to pursue her, and she risked looking down at her damaged hand. The flesh was raw and red, oozing a strange clear yellow liquid and a hint of blood. She was positive she'd have a few blisters as well.

The desire to hit him was overwhelming as was her desire to find cool water or a snow capped mountain peak to nurse her hands with.

"Is it really in thy interest to refuse my help?"

"What you do want from me?" Linaer snapped. This whole thing was about control. He probably wasn't upset by what she'd said, just that she felt empowered enough to say it.

"I wish for thee to sleep here, so that we can plan together how to solve this dinner fiasco. That is all."

That probably wasn't all, not even close. "I said I was going to sleep somewhere else," she hissed.

"And I can keep thee here all night, but I think that wound of thine really does need a bandage, to avoid further hurt, or an unlikely infection." Zigûr's voice lowered. "It would be best if we were to cooperate with each other."

Linaer scowled. She was tired and frustrated, and no longer in the mood to argue with him, but something was bothering her, something he'd said… made her uncomfortable.

"You want me to sleep here. Why does that even matter to you? We'll have all morning to plot and plan."

"Sleep eases stress, has a positive effect on both health and a person's general outlook, aids healing, and can provide the mind with solutions to life's various problems. If thou stayeth I'll be able to make sure that does in fact get some sleep. Beyond that door, there are the monsters that thy sister sees, and thy sister who has already expressed a desire to stay up. Both would be a distraction, and there is thy mother to whom I do not wish to be known."

Linaer remained silent. His answer had been so swift, and weird…she hadn't imagined Sauron as the type to like sleep let alone endorse it. She frowned, wondering about it, unsure what to make of it. Was he lying to her? Was there something she missed? The demons were hidden among the details. He was manipulator so somewhere in there, he'd revealed something, or half revealed something that could yield more. She didn't trust him, but her hand was begging for attention, and sleep would be a welcome escape from him, even if it was only for a little while.

She sighed, refusing to trust him. "Alright, fine." She made a show of putting the dress back in the closet. "Now can I please-" He moved aside. "Thank you."

Grinding her teeth together she slipped into the hall, to nurse her hand and find a place to change.


	9. Gallantry and Gorthaur

**Author's Note: Here's a shorty! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own this fic, but I saw a Shadow of Mordor commercial and I'm very tempted to own that game. ;) Sauron was so badass in the promo-flinging people about with an ungodly massive mace. I wonder if anyone's considered grabbing it and just swinging around? This is probably how the Merry-go-round might have been invented in ME….**

* * *

**Gallantry and Gorthaur**

The girl was wearing a pail sleeping shift and her burned hand was wrapped in linen when she entered her room. Without looking at him she threw the dress she'd been wearing on top of the pile of clothes on her chair- much to Sauron's distaste- and crossed over to her bed, where she gently eased the cat from her pillow before swiftly crawling under the covers, readying herself for sleep.

She kept her back to him, apparently intent upon ignoring him.

"Why dost thou insist upon acting like a child? If thy mother is so intent upon marrying thee off, it means thou must be an adult?"

"You want me to sleep; you're getting your wish. I fail to see why you're bothering to complain-"

"Thy petulant attempt to ignore me is not, to what I am referring."

Linaer shifted giving the smoke cloud a glare. "Than what are you referring to?"

"Thy need to change elsewhere. This is thy bedroom-"

"I already told you, your presence wasn't an issue, and what if I'm interested in preserving a little dignity? That's not childish." She scoffed at him.

"Thy words and behaviors don't coincide. Dignity is understandable. Thou art bashful-"

Linaer laughed-the sound far too similar to the mocking chortles he occasionally graced her, and it unnerved her. But it also felt good to be misunderstood. She was getting tired of trying to hide from him.

"I openly told you I have dwarf fantasies, and bashful is what came to your mind?"

"Many people fantasize over what they are too afraid to take. It's quite common-"

The girl sat up. "I'll give you a hint. See the window?" She pointed at it sensing Zigûr's gaze leave her for a moment. There was no way he could have possibly missed the giant pane of glass obscured by pathetically sheer pink curtains.

"Voyeur."

"…Ah." The former dark lord's gaze returned to her, and she inwardly frowned. 'Ah' was all she going to get? She supposed it would be too much to ask for a little sympathy from a man who spent most of his life as a giant eyeball- the Lord of Voyeurs. Again she wondered if he'd ever…probably…it was best not to ask.

"Hast thou not spoken to thy mother?"

Linaer shrugged. "It doesn't really matter anymore does it? I change in the laundry room, the world's coming to an end soon, and my mother has enough to deal without bringing that up. Considering how anxious she is to see me married, there's a chance that she might decide to invite him over for dinner, anyways. And I don't understand why that would even matter to you?"

"I was merely curious-"

"You had a giant eye-"

The moment she said it she felt the air shift and crackle. "I hope for thy sake, that thou hath not dared to insinuate that I would stoop to such depravity."

"I'm _not _suggesting anything, but surely you can see how that mistake could easily be made!" She waved her hands to pacify him, grimacing as the bandages rubbed against the burn on her hand. "Sorry I offended you, but with that sort of power…" she bit her lip before anything else tumbled from her mouth. She really had no interest in getting burned a second time, and this time she had a feeling he wouldn't be as nice.

Zigûr, despite his anger, made no move toward her, and a silence heavy with awkwardness filled the space between them. "I never cared to scrutinize the antics of my enemies that closely…. They were beneath me, and…" the former dark lord's voice trailed off, only further underlining the weirdness of the conversation.

"This voyeur of yours-will he be a problem?"

Linaer shrugged. "I doubt it, but I certainly won't be leaving the curtains open anytime soon if you're worried about it. In any case," she let her head fall back into the pillow feigning casualness-hoping that would help alleviate some of the weirdness. "My mother is the one to worry about. She's the one most likely to find out I'm hiding the former Lord of Mordor, of all people, in my closet… I must be out of my mind…"

Sauron ignored the girl's grumbling, mulling over the few ideas he had in mind.

"Why don't I just slip out, come back a while later and tell her he can't make it because of some family thing?"

"What sort of family 'thing' would he be attending?"

"I don't know. A funeral or a wedding could possibly work-"

"It was my understanding that such events were fairly large and communal-"

"Maybe he left to visit family, or he could be ill… I don't know. I'd like to sleep now." She rolled over, facing away from him. She gently cupped a hand over the throbbing burn, eager to ignore the dark hazy mass behind her.

"The problem with all these suggestions is that all they'll do is postpone the inevitable. They won't dissuade your mother entirely."

"Postpone the inevitable?" She raised an eyebrow, before rolling back over with a huff. He wasn't going to leave her alone until he felt satisfied with whatever horrible plan he'd managed to foster. "That sounds ideal. The world's going to end soon, right? Why dissuade her entirely if I don't have too?" Why even bother in the first place? Why did the world even need to end at all? Had everything that happened since its creation offended Eru that badly, but then why hadn't he let Morgoth destroy it the first time around or let Sauron have done whatever he wanted to do? Why wait? Why now?

She bit her lip. Things must have happened the way they did for a reason. There had to be a reason for all of it. A really big reason…. Her mother wasn't a problem. Morgoth was a problem, the fallen Maia before her was a problem, Elwin's safety was a problem. Everything else was not even worth her time, and here she was pretending that all those mundane things still mattered, with a former dark lord, because it amused him.

The doorknob was under her fingers before Zigûr's voice stopped. Unsure of what he'd even said, and not really caring she pulled the door open. "I need a drink."

Without waiting for a response she closed it behind her.

Sauron had seen the girl's mood change, and he stared at the space she'd just occupied. He didn't believe for a moment that she'd gone to get water. The faint sound a far off door opening and closing only heightened his suspicions, but he remained where he was. It wouldn't do him any good to follow after her.

Grumpily he settled over the bed, deciding that he might as well relax as much as he could before she returned.

* * *

Zigûr jerked as the door opened, momentarily panicked by the sudden intrusion. Fearful of a window being opened, and furious for allowing himself to drift off in a hostile place, he felt himself calm as Linaer slipped into the room.

His relief was immediately replaced by irritation. He couldn't sleep, not in any traditional sense, but he could let his mind wander and dream. He'd been having a good dream too, swinging a hammer and relishing the hiss of hot metal scalding a basin of water. The tune of the song he'd been singing still pleasantly danced in the recesses of his mind.

"It took thee long enough. Did the well run dry?"

The girl shot him a scowl, but her glower was marred by wetness of her eyes, and the light pink puffiness that surrounded them.

"No," she snapped, extinguishing the lamp still lighting the room. Linaer carefully navigated the treacherous piles of laundry and junk littering her floor, before crawling into the bed.

Watching the girl, Sauron got the impression that he wasn't at the root of whatever was troubling her.

"Zigûr, are you bored?"

He watched the girl chew her lip as if struggling with some sort of decision. Curious, he decided to play along. "Perhaps..."

"I need a 'yes' or a 'no.' You're not really going to lie about whether or not you're bored, are you?"

The fallen Maia scowled. He might lie to her. He didn't like her tone at all. The little whelp thought she had some modicum of control. He would put her in her place at some point, but he kept his temper in check shrugging.

"I am."

Linaer nodded. "I spoke with Elwin at breakfast, and she came up with an interesting idea..."

Zigûr's eyes narrowed at the sudden discomfort etched across her face. "She's been studying the Third Age, and um… the War of the Ring-"

"What of it?"

Linaer fiddled with a string. "The Ringwraiths were little more than spiritual entities, yet they could wear cloths and walk around without being carried off by the wind, and we were both sort of curious if you could…."

"I could don physical garb, if there was some provided that fitted me properly. What does this have to do with my being bored?"

The girl buried her head in her hands. "Never mind! It's stupid." Smirking he watched her roll into the pillow, burying her face a moment.

"Do tell me."

Linaer froze, hearing the amused grin on his voice, and feeling the encroachment of heat. "Maybe you could uh…um…you know-

"No little mortal, I don't know." He was still amused and he'd gotten closer. Instinctually she shifted away. "Maybe you could join us for dinner! Or n-not-" He'd shifted again, practically radiating with amusement. "There's a light festival coming up and if this fated meeting were postponed until then-assuming the world hasn't ended by then you could um-it has to be irritating being trapped in a closet, and if the wind wasn't an issue, I thought you might want to get out for a while?!"

Her face burned as he laughed, and she prayed that her mother had long since passed out and hadn't heard her. She wasn't actually asking him to escort her or anything like that, except she sort of was… wasn't she? She swallowed uncomfortably, trying and failing to ignore the horrible shameful burning in her face. Silently she hoped her pillow would eat her.

At least the plan amused him, unlike the other ones, not that it helped matters much. But at least one was incredibly stupid and both of them knew it. Unfortunately it was stupid enough to have a certain appeal. It could possibly work, and she wouldn't have to pretend to feign embarrassment or discomfort around him in front of her mother- so long she tweaked her own performance enough to-she dropped her face back into her hands. She'd actually have to act like she might have a crush. There was no reason why he wouldn't try to take horrible advantage of the situation.

"Thou wishest for an escort?"

She scowled passed her flushed cheeks at his amused voice. "No. I want us to meet, show you to my mother, and part ways as swiftly as possible."

"Hmm…" she got a sense he was only pretending to muse over his next words. "I fail to see how that would convince her. I suspect that she will not be too eager to let us alone for very long. If such a ruse were to be perpetrated successfully, I would have to be nearby at all times. In such a public venue it would not only be your mother that needs to be convinced."

"No! No! Absolutely not-"

"Oh, but I like this plan. An opportunity to escape thy hellish room and touch the world as I once did- I can hardly pass up such a gift. Nor will I."

Linaer shook her head, inching backward as she felt him move in closer. "I-I've changed my mind. I think it's a terrible idea."

"And if that voyeur of yours were to be at this festival? I'm not as familiar with thy situation as thou art, but if he's the sort to make a move in public-"

"I'd knock his teeth out. You're fear mongering isn't going to work. It wouldn't be the first time I beat off someone a little too grabby. I've made a reputation for myself. And I'll hit you too if you try anything."

Zigûr was laughing again, unperturbed by her threats. "Unfortunately social convention requires thee to play the role damsel in distress. And I have no desire to touch an ingrate such thyself any more than necessary. Thou shalt have no reason to hit me, and even if thou didst I would not succumb to pain as a mortal would. In my current state I am beyond pain in any case."

Frustrated and quickly becoming infuriated by his sense of control, she sat up, unwilling to let herself move any farther away from him. He probably wouldn't risk burning her…too much.

"I have changed my mind-

"And I have made mine," Zigûr's voice slid through the darkness, still amused, but taking on a dangerous edge. "If it eases thy mind, I will promise thee these things: I won't force thee to call me any of those trite romance-names that thine kind are so apt to indulge in, and there will be no physical contact outside of what is necessary to show thy mother that thou art indeed in a relationship. Provided that thee upholds thy end of our agreement."

"My end? What do you want from me? Why do you even think I'll agree to any of those terms?"

Zigûr shrugged. "Thou shalt accompany me until I've returned safely to thy house, and thou wilt maintain a good deal of discretion when addressing me as I have no wish to be found out. It only seems fitting that thou escorts me then, especially when I am distant traveler unfamiliar with the layout of thy town, does it not."

"That's it? I just have to hang on your arm all evening?"

"Yes."

A frown marred Linaer's face. There was no way agreeing was a good idea… "I maintain the right to defend myself as I please. You can't jump to my rescue-"

"Absolutely not. I am going to play the part of a drooling adolescent; the least you can do is suffer equal discomfort by pretending to be a perfect young lady. It would be devastating to our ruse if thy mother happened upon us and saw that I had failed to defend thee and thy honour. Nor do I have any wish to be seen escorted by a living faux pa."

Shocked and indignant, Linaer glared at him. A living faux pas? She swallowed before she truly did something stupid, like spit at him. "A living faux pas?"

"Yes, it means social blunder-"

"I know what it means."

The girl was infuriated, which surprised him to an extent. He'd hoped to get a reaction, which is why he'd chose the words he did, but it was interesting just how deeply those words had gone. He'd assumed she was quite content knocking people's heads in with a pan. She'd certainly sounded proud of her reputation for knocking men's teeth out. And truth be told, he wouldn't mind watching the girl do so. But it was too important that his cover be kept.

"I think thou will find that an evening under my terms to be quite agreeable."

The girl scowled. "Why should I trust you?"

"Thou could open that window and let me be whisked away by the wind, if thou felt so inclined. It would be foolish of me to cross thee."

That was bad. That was bad. He was playing her, and she could feel it. He'd reminded her of the power she had, unafraid of doing so. Heart hammering against her chest, she frowned, suddenly feeling very cold despite the warmth emanating from the dark entity before her. He had her where he wanted her and the problem was she had no idea where he'd put her, or where her escape route was.

Licking her lips to moisten them she hesitated. "Um…I don't- I don't know." She wanted to smack herself. Admitting her confusion to him-that was clever. Still maybe she could honesty against him? "How about this? Let me think on it and I'll tell you tomorrow."

Postponing the inevitable wasn't the best idea in the world, but if she could buy herself some time, maybe she could figure something out…?

Zigûr seemed to hesitate, before she felt him ease back. "That...is fine." It was perfect in his mind. He watched the girl give him a swift nod before settling into the pillow, and adjusting herself until she felt comfortable.

In the darkness, the fallen dark lord grinned. He had only to wait, and as he listened to her breathing already beginning to grow deeper, he knew he wouldn't have to wait long. Already he was internally composing the first few verses of his song.


	10. The Scourge of the Closet

**Author's Note: So um, a friend of mine and I decided to swap chapter updates. I still owe her a RITD update. Don't let me forget that. (It's in the works, but progress is slow.)**

**I was going to upload several chapters at once. I have a few more following tomorrow. I'm sick right now, and I haven't been able to do much writing, and even less editing. So here's the first of many chapters. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just drool all over the computer screen and write fanfiction when I'm not drooling all over my darling Tecat who is very upset with me. (That's my OC Dark Lady. She's rather jealous of Morgoth and Sauron at the moment. And she's looking for minions. Would anyone like to join her army?)**

* * *

**The Scourge of the Closet**

"Where is he? Where is the strapping young lad I was expecting?"

Linaer stifled an annoyed grumble. "He's ill. Bed ridden…and his parents would not let me see him." Tired and grumpy after having been kept up by a former dark lord's sadistic glee at being escorted to a light festival of all things, and then being stomped on by one of the cats, Linaer was left with little tolerance for her mother's marriage-fixation. Still she grit her teeth, and kept her grumpiness locked away. "They said he expressed an interest in seeing me at some point, and they thought that he might um…accompany me to the Light Festival."

She couldn't figure out how in the world Zigûr was going to wear clothing let alone pass off being a human kid, but as soon as she'd woken, before she'd even been allowed to smell a cup of tea, Zigûr had seen fit to explain his ideas to her in a manner that left her with no clue what he was actually up to.

"- delightful dress-"

"What?"

Her mother, disappointed by the lack of her expected dinner guest, had started rambling about the Lamp Festival.

"You silly girl," her mother utter a short laugh, "I was thinking you could do with a new dress."

"But Mother-"

"Don't but me. It's been a while since I got you a new one, and I have a feeling that this young man will be a keeper." Linaer coughed, and quickly buried her nose in a cup of tea. She didn't know if she wanted to laugh or run, as memories of last night flooded her mind. She was sure one former dark lord was laughing somewhere. "So you will make a good impression."

Linaer swallowed a gulp of hot tea, wincing as it burned her throat. She was sure she could hear him laughing. If by 'good impression' her mother meant beating whatever was left of his spiritual essence to death with a frying pan, Linaer was very happy to oblige.

"I was thinking something light…white and pink, pure and innocent…." Her mother mused out loud much to Linaer's annoyance.

"How about red or purple!?" Elwin asked, before tearing into a second slice of toast.

"Oh no, I will never allow either of you to wear red. It's such a vulgar colour. And purple is far too expensive, though it would be lovely," the woman sighed in disappointment.

"I would like blue -"

"But it's such a dreary colour."

Linaer bit back a few words that were bound to get her in trouble. "Blue is deep, endless, thought provoking, and I have no interest in marrying a muttonhead. If he can't provide me with thoughtful and intelligent conversation- I think would rather marry a sheep."

Elwin burst into a fit of laughter.

A small smile touched Linaer's lips. "I guess I have this insane idea that I want to be in love before I get married, like you and…." She trailed off. Across from her, her mother nodded her head, a soft smile teasing her lips.

"I have nothing against romance. But more often than not we don't find love where we want it, but where we need it. Linaer you want a man who can provide decent conversation, when what you might need is a stoic, someone who can't talk at all, or even a 'muttonhead.'"

Linaer scowled at notion of falling in love with an idiot. There was no way her mother was correct about that one, but she supposed she understood what her mother was getting at. Except the girl never felt like she was in need of anything, certainly not anything that she couldn't provide for herself already.

"It's why arranged marriages were so common long ago. Parents sometimes have a better grasp of their children's strengths and weaknesses than their children do. So they would seek out suitable matches, with an eye out for status and wealth as well, but it was generally thought that their children would come to fall in love with someone that fulfilled their needs. It didn't always work out. But when it did it was beautiful."

"What do we need?" Elwin asked, leaning her head against Linaer's arm.

"Well your sister needs someone who can dodge frying pans, or she'll wind up married to a muttonhead regardless." To that Elwin howled with raucous laughter and Linaer snorted as her face burned.

"And you dearest," their mother reached across the table to pull a few locks hair away from Elwin's face. "You need a knight to chase away all your monsters."

"But I have Lin for that!" Elwin grinned, as Linaer laughed and wrapped an arm around her.

"Yes, but your sister won't be here forever. She's going to get married, find a nice to settle down, and-"

"But I can live with her. Find a really big house Linny!"

At that the older girl bit her lip. "Sure." Once again they were planning for a future that wasn't going to happen. Icy claws sank into her chest as she thought of the doom before them, but she hid her thoughts behind a smile. "I'll make sure it's a _huge_ house."

"Lika castle?"

Linaer smiled. "It can be a castle." She pressed her lips to the top of Elwin's head before looking toward her mother.

"Can I be excused?"

"Of course-"

"Thank you." Feeling cold with dread she slipped from the table to find some reprieve and sleep.

* * *

Linaer shuddered as she entered her bedroom. The heat that suddenly washed over her, while it wasn't unbearable, it still shocked her after being in the cooler parts of the house. She warily eyed the dark shadowy mass wafting before her closet before stumbling over a pile of laundry and flopping on the bed.

Ignoring the evil miasma of darkness she snuggled into the blankets, in the hopes of recapturing a few lost hours. Before her head even hit the pillow, Linaer's eyes had closed and her mind had sunken into murky warm darkness.

For a fleeting a moment she thought she heard the faintest traces of a tune and then nothing.

_The air was different. She couldn't say how…but it was. It was like no air anywhere else. It was invigorating and tiring to breathe at the same time. Sweet and pungent like a freshly opened jar of molasses or a vase of gardinia blossoms._

_ Smiling she strode forward, under the soft dancing shadows of towering trees, and through long swaying grass that tickled her knees. She was going home…._

_ Far off she could see a small brown building; its door flung wide open, and its inner walls flickering with an occassinal burst of orange light. A grin widened her lips and she broke into a run, but the house never got closer. _

_ A cold chill raced along her spin and she skidded to a harsh stop as dread suddenly held her fast. The air turned stale and bitter, and Linaer choked on it. A shadow rose up from behind her, covering her, the trees, grass, the tiny house, and the land beyond in darkness._

_ Hands slick with sweat, she stood, feeling eyes upon her. She wished she had her frying pan, but she'd left it in the kitchen. She felt the menace moving toward her. _

_ Coughing and heart hammering she turned to face it- _

"Hast thou come to a decision yet?"

"Woah! Shit!" Linaer sat up, throwing the blankets aside, and scrambling away from the smoky entity hovering at the side of her bed. "WHAT-!? Ouch!" She hissed as she stubbed her toe.

"Ow! Ow! Son of a-!"

"Lin, are you alright?!" Her mother's voice called from the kitchen.

Hissing and muttering choice curses under her breath she gimped over to her bookshelf. Bracing herself against it, she looked down at her screaming toe. The nail was broken, and the skin was a bright red, but it looked fine otherwise. Gritting her teeth, she wrapped a hand around it, to comfort it, protect it, and stifle the pain.

She shot the fallen Maia her evilest glare, daring him to laugh or say something insulting, before turning her attention to the sound of nearing footsteps.

"I'm fine! I-I tripped!" She didn't tear her eyes away from the roiling mass of darkness. "It's a common courtesy not to sneak up on people when their sleeping," she hissed at him. "And you called me a living faux pas? Really?!"

"Lin are you sure you're alright?"

Linaer's head whipped toward her bedroom door, before she cast another dark look in the fallen Maia's direction. Lips pursed and eyes bright, she gestured toward the closet.

"I'm fine! I was…" she bit her lip, as her toe touched the ground. Linaer turned her focus toward protecting her toe as she skirted a pile of laundry and a precarious stack of books. "I dozed off, had a sort of nightmare, tripped over something, stubbed my toe. I'm fine."

Linaer pulled open her door. "I'm fine Mom. Really." _I just have a Dark Lord hanging out in my room._

"I'm sorry you had a bad dream, but if you cleaned up once in a while, you might not have tripped and hurt yourself."

It took every ounce of self control Linaer had to keep from glowering at her mother. "Yeah…." She glanced back at her overly dark closet. He was lucky she didn't have a frying pan! Or an arm long enough for her to punch him from where she stood.

"Linaer?"

The girl schooled her expression and looked back at her mother, heart hammering in her throat all of the sudden. It was a bad idea to look in that direction. If her mother thought there was someone-she stuffed that line of thought in a dark corner of her mind. There was no need for it.

"Yes?" She was surprised her voice didn't shake with the tempo in her throat.

"Are you in need of shoes?"

"What?" Linaer frowned. "Shoes? Shoes… for the festival you mean? No… I don't think so…? I'll check on that." She tried not to think about how close that would bring her to an evil fallen dark lord that she'd cussed at, yelled at, glared at, and nearly revealed. Her traitorous mind ignored her wishes, immediately conjuring memories of her burned hand.

"See what you have, and bring me your best pairs. And I know you have some dirty laundry. Why don't you make your floor a little less treacherous by bringing some to the washroom?"

"Sure." Getting out of the house, and away from her roommate, suddenly seemed like a wonderful idea. "When are we leaving?"

"I'm supposed to be taking Elwin to a friend's house in a couple of hours, so you and I can look at dresses while we're out." Inwardly she still rolled her eyes at the idea of stuffing another dress into her closet, but under the circumstances dress shopping sounded almost wonderful. She looked forward to going, if it got her away from Zigûr.

"I'll go look at my shoes…."

Linaer forced herself to return her mother's smile, before shutting the door.

The girl let her head land against the cool dark wood, as she tried to calm herself. The air around her was growing warm, but she closed her eyes and tried to shove it along with everything else into the back of her mind.

It was easy. It was too easy to pretend the world was as it should be when all around her nothing seemed to be changing. Playing dress up was a lot more fun and a lot easier than trying to confront the very idea that world was in peril. Turning around though, and once again being faced by simmering darkness, it was hard to think of anything other than the world coming to an end.

In the tense silence that suddenly pervaded her room, the only movement was the soft movements of the dark haze a few feet away from her. Linaer was starting to get the feeling that she was in some sort of impromptu battle of will. Why? She wasn't sure she wanted to guess. All she really wanted, was grab a few a shoes and put as much distance as she could between them for as long as possible. But Zigûr was between her and the closet.

He had some power in his condition, more than she'd thought if his voice play and the burn on her hand were any indication, but how much did he really have? What could he do to her? What could he do to Elwin?

Linaer weighed her options. It would be all too easy to decide if a pan was handy. She might not accomplish anything more than denting the walls, but it would still feel good to take a few swings at him. Running from her room like she wanted to do probably wasn't in her best interest. That would be admitting defeat. He'd win. If he thought he had power over her, he'd probably just go out of his way to make her as miserable as possible….

Whatever it was he was trying to gain- dominion over the bedroom she guessed- she probably couldn't stop him. He was a Maia, older than the earth itself, with abilities she'd never be able to understand, but… she could try to earn his respect. That might make things more tenable for everyone involved. That could work, but she had no idea how she was going to accomplish that.

In any case she needed to make a move of some kind, before he decided to do something.

Still uncertain, and with her head screaming for her to run, Linaer clenched her teeth and took a step forward.

The former dark lord didn't say anything, he didn't suddenly reach for her, he didn't burn her; he didn't move. He was as still as ethereal haze of darkness could be. Linaer worried over what that meant. A tiny voice in her head whispered, 'trap!' and another countered with, 'he just waiting to see what I'm doing.' Right….

Linaer forced herself to move forward, trying to look calm, all the while questioning her sanity. He burned some important person to death with a mere touch. Could he do that now? Running was still an option. It wasn't the best, but it was gaining appeal.

Balling her fists to keep them from shaking she stopped only inches remained between her and the fallen Maia.

Stealing a quick breath to calm herself she said, "excuse me," trying to keep her voice as even and calm as possible.

Zigûr remained silent, but the darkness before her went nearly still, more so than before if that was possible. Then slowly, very slowly, the fallen Maia drew closer narrowing the gap between them even further. Linaer's heart sputtered, as every inch of her body screamed to run, and her breath froze in the back of her throat, which was fine, because Linaer was horrified by the possibility of inhaling him.

"Of course." Zigûr's voice was perfectly flat.

Without touching her, the darkness parted and rose above her, allowing her to pass.

"Thank you." Tense and stiff in the back, Linaer watched his movements with a mixture of wariness and fascination, as she slowly approached her closet. She didn't trust him not to double-cross her.

Still trying to keep him in the corner of her eye, Linaer knelt before her closet. She just needed to find some nice shoes. Then she could show them to her mother, and then use shopping as an excuse to put as much distance as possible between herself and Zigûr.

"Nice shoes," she whispered under her breath. "Nice shoes, nice shoes, nice-" She reached into the closet plucking several shoes from the darkness.

"Talking to oneself is a hallmark of insanity."

Linaer turned and scowled at the former dark lord. "After letting you stay here, without attempting to do anything to you, I thought there couldn't be a doubt about my insanity-oh my goodness!" Linaer flung the hideous monstrosities disguised as shoes into the farthest corner of her closet. "Can you burn those?"

"I'm afraid I didn't see them."

"Good, good, good." Two pairs of white shoes, one brown, and one brown found their way into her pile. "Don't look for them, and you won't suffer any shoe induced nightmares for the next month and a half. And I don't suggest you go looking for them."

Linaer chewed her lip wondering if there was anything she was willing to show her mother. She reached for a pair of close toed black shoes before lowering her hand. The weather was too warm to even consider anything other than open toed shoes.

The shoes she'd chosen were fine, and she doubted her mother would have much to complain about. Her mother was overly fond of bight colours especially pink and thought the world of frills and lace, but she wasn't entirely tasteless all the time. Linaer considered her bedroom to be an exception. It was the result of years of lashing opinions and ideals. Her mother held to the notion that young men liked girly girls, which might be true in some cases, but from what she'd heard from friends married and unmarried that men lived in perpetual fear of frills.

Maybe if Sauron had gone to war with lace reams, disgruntled interior designers, and doilies instead of trolls, nazgul, and orcs he might have actually won. The image of a pink Minas Tirith was both horrific and amusing, and she couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped her.

"Is something amusing?"

Shaking her head, Linaer buried her face in her hands.

"Um," she found herself unable to look at the Dark Maia. "What do you think of the shoe selection?"

"Thou art doomed to fail. To convince thy mother that there is no need for any further shoe acquisition, it would be prudent to bring her shoes that she would find appealing: bright colours, complexity of design, flowers, etcetera. All of them are far too simple, and I doubt very much she'll find brown appealing even if the shoe is fairly complex by comparison to the rest."

"When did you become an expert in shoes?"

She heard a chuckle from behind her. "I'm flattered thou think me an expert of foot apparel, but I can assure thee that I am not."

With a huff Linaer put her selected shoes in the closet. "So would these be better?" She held up a pair of white closed toed things lined with white flowers.

"They're an improvement. Now what about that garish pair thou sent into the Void? I would think by thy reaction would be those be most fitting."

"Ugh!" Linaer grimaced with distaste. "You're kidding right?" She pouted, hoping for some modicum of sympathy that she knew she wasn't going to get. Mentally throwing her hands up and uttering an audible sigh she crawled into the closet, reaching into the back corner for her hideous shoes.

Her fingers landed on the mass of leather, lace, and rhinestones and she reluctantly pulled them out for Zigûr to inspect.

For several moments he was still and silent, before the inky darkness roiled as he shifted. "Thy mother must hate thee."

Well it wasn't the sympathy she had been hoping for, but at least they in agreement. "Um, yes…my mother had nothing to do with these. Elwin and pair of diabolical young cousins are behind these. They used to be lavender and less, um, less."

"Lavender? With all the additional decoration, that may have been-"

"Ridiculous. They would have been ridiculous. They might not have been as hideous, but-can I get rid of them now? Before my eyes melt and dribble out of my head if that's alright with you? Thanks." Without even waiting for an answer she flung the abominations back into the corner.

"I have no interest in sharing so small a quarter with such horrid company. Get them gone from there!"

"Oh?" Linaer scowled. "And where should I put, short of the fires of Mount Doom, which might not be enough?"

"I think the fires of Oroduin would suffice, though I suppose after throwing them in thou could consult a balrog for a second opinion. If there was still any uncertainty after that, a bit of dragon fire ought to take care of any surviving ash. All joking aside, I wish for them to be far removed from the closet."

"But I thought you were beyond pain?" Immediately Linaer realized she'd gone too far with that one. The air grew hot, and she scowled. "Alright, alright, I'll save you from the bloody shoes. Where would you like me to put them?"

"Somewhere beyond sight, sound, and remembrance."

"So you want me to send them into the actual Void? Get me a ship to Valinor and I'll see if Lord Manwe might be able to help." She withdrew the horrible footwear from her closet. "Do you suppose we'd be safe from them if they were buried under a pile of laundry?"

"The Void would be ideal, but under the circumstances a pile of laundry will have to do. Or thou could attempt a trek to Oroduin."

"A pile of laundry it is then." There was one far from the closet and far away from the bed, on the opposite side of the room that Linaer thought would serve. Zigûr backed away to give her extra room to move around him.

The shoes were swiftly buried and for added measure Linaer removed clothes and books, and other various items from other piles and added them to the mountain covering the shoes.

Linaer returned to the closet, and began sorting through her shoes, periodically asking Zigûr's opinion.

If it wasn't for the fact that the former dark lord was hovering over her shoulder the entire time, the silence would have been almost relaxed.

"Thou never answered my question."

The girl paused in her examination of a pair of shoes to look up at the dark ethereal mass. "What-oh. That question."

Closing her eyes, Linaer exhaled. Her mother was going to drag her to the bloody festival, especially since she'd told there was a prospective suitor supposedly meeting her, and she needed someone to fill in as the suitor. She didn't have many options. And maybe Zigûr really did want to out around people. Floating around unable to interact with the world or with people must have been horrible. She wondered if the Void wouldn't have been a kinder fate for him. At least in the Void he would have been far removed from the world, but he'd been forced to see it, unable to touch it or be a part of it. She pitied him. She actually felt bad for him. He didn't deserve pity from anyone. And he probably deserved worse than what he'd gotten, but at the same time…. Linaer was going to be in a lot of trouble if he ever realized how big of a mush-pot she was.

But then she'd overheard her uncle tell her father that…she bit her lip. She'd tried it the other way, with some success, but at the end of the day Linaer couldn't really change. Part of her didn't want to.

_'She's soft Azerod, and one day she'll wind up being taken advantage of or worse.'_ At the time Linaer overheard that, she hadn't understood what they were talking about. The girl was mean with a frying pan in her hands. No one bullied her, because she'd a put a dent in the head of anyone that tried, but later, when she was older she'd realized what he'd meant.

Aggression and a frying pan weren't enough to protect her from herself. She trusted too easily and empathized too easily, and eventually she'd been taken advantage of just as her uncle had predicted. She'd hardened for a time: became more suspicious of other people's motives, but it was a painful existence- living in doubt of others. One she couldn't bear. Nor did she care to. So she kept herself soft, fought to maintain it, and at some point she would have paid for it, but it seemed the world was going to end before it came to that. The least she could do was show a fallen Maia to the last Light Festival she'd ever attend, and make her mother happy for the first time in a long time.

Another sigh escaped Linaer's lips. "I'll escort you."


	11. Needs a Title

**Author's Note: I hate short chapters. But eh. Characterization is a nightmare, because I written out some future scenes and some things aren't jiving at all. So… I'm stuck. And I'm playing with the idea of taking this entire fic down, readjusting some things, while at the same time hoping I don't have to, because I'd love to come up a logical reason for the discrepancies first. **

**I've actually written a lot for this story, and have a ton of stuff to post, but I haven't come up with a good way to build bridges between important events. (I have four notebooks full of the exploits of Lin and Ziggy) I just suck at logic and I can't stick to outlines to save my life. That's what up. **

**The costume for Sauron? Written**

**The Festival? Written. However I'm not pleased with part of it and I'm going to redo that. (Characterization issues. STILL)**

**Morgoth's return? Written.**

**Sauron's reaction to Morgy's return? ((So you know in the first chapter how I said there wouldn't be any Morgoth/Sauron action? There's been a change of plans! And you will see why. It's **_**not **_**how you think it's going to be.))**

**The 'camping trip:' WRITTEN**

**At this rate I'll have the entire story finished before I figure out how to coherently segue from one point to another and write a character that's not horribly wishy-washy. **

**So while all this stuff is pending, have this shitty measly chapter, while I put this jigsaw puzzle of a fic together. I hate writing. Sometimes I really hate writing. And I'm terribly sorry that it's not worth the wait. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

**Needs a Title**

**(maybe I'll name it Bob.)**

**Chapter Bob**

'_My Precious One…'_

The darkness hidden within Linaer's closet was a writhing howling mess, as Sauron lapsed into another self-destructive fit.

He felt like he was burning, or being eaten from the inside out, and he couldn't make it stop. He couldn't! He couldn't! And everything: the endless years of travel, the loneliness, the uselessness, the powerlessness, and the memories of what had been, the dashed hopes of what could have been, and the destruction of what should have been and never was- it all boiled over into a sea of blackness, a void that he couldn't escape. And he wanted to. He wanted to. So desperately he wanted to.

A cry, a scream, a plea for help constricted in his throat, though it mattered not because there was no point in screaming when there was no one to hear it. He wanted to be saved from the encroaching darkness, prowling the edges of his consciousness like a beast. He didn't deserve to be rescued, but that didn't stop him wishing for it.

He knew and yet didn't know what it intended to do to him once it had him. It would drag him into the darkness, the void that stole away his very sense of self and offered him some semblance of p eace. But always, when he was finally released he was more ruined than before.

So Sauron scrambled and fled before it, struggling to crawl away from the gaping chasm it would shove him into. And yet, for all the damage it inflicted upon him, it took away his pain. He knew not, how it accomplished that. He didn't know if it was in his mind, or if it was real, or if it was him or he was it, or if it was some 'Other' sent by Eru to torment him.

He thrashed and flailed, keeping it at bay, unaware that in his struggles he was slashing at himself. His efforts were futile. They always had been, but still he had to try.

_'My Precious One, how wonderful thou art…' _

He jerked and moaned as that voice conjured up the sweetest pleasure and excruciating torture. The deep melodious voice, rang in his ears, and phantom fingers ghosted over flesh he did not currently have. "Go away!"

He swatted away the tender fingers, and gentle hands, as something inside himself twisted with sickening mix of longing and revulsion. They shouldn't have made him feel as he did. He shouldn't have been haunted anymore. He was past that.

The dark creature slunk closer.

From the blackness green hills rose as if to mock him. He could see himself sitting them, but the person he was looking upon was not truly him. Not anymore. The golden creature idly sitting in the grass, watching the beautiful visage of the person next to them with those smiling eyes. Those horribly familiar and simultaneously alien amber eyes. He recoiled, curling away from the image, because it hurt too much to look at, and he silently cursed the girls' orange cat.

The beast was there, looming like a cloud waiting engulf him, and he wished it already had.

_'I wish thee to be mine.'_

In memory his heart leapt, sputtering sporadically and filling with radiant heat.

"Stay the fuck away!"

He shuddered violently as a very sharp pang lance through him. The dark was so close. That dark void within himself and around himself was slowly luring him in, hungry to devour him. And Sauron at that moment wanted to be devoured, if it meant he didn't have to look at his younger self smiling with such innocent joy, as his fingers nervously caressed the petals of a nearby daisy.

He uttered a soft, nervous, breathless laugh. And Sauron tried to plug his ears, tried to drown out the sound, because he knew the words that were coming. He wanted to throttle the young Maia he'd been.

_'Then I am thine.'_

The words were so honest, so stupidly naïve, so meaningful in every way they could have possibly been. A nervous silence reeled itself out, as the young Maia nervously tilted his head so that his golden hair fell to conceal the hesitation marring his smile.

'_My precious.…'_

Those two words undid the Fallen Maia. He coiled upon himself rigid and trembling.

"Nonononono! Stop! Stop! Go away! Goaway!" The Maia begged for the voice to stop speaking and the pain to stop hurting, and then he was just begging, welcoming the beast as trotted toward him.

Screaming, shouting, yelling, cursing, he fled the beast as an ounce of sense returned, but the rest of him reached for it. Anything to take him away. He cared not what happened after, so long as he could avoid hearing that voice uttering those words ever again.

With tooth and claw the dark leapt upon him, tearing and biting with wild abandon, as every ounce of fear and pain bled from him. He seized and twitched under the onslaught as conscious thought faded into oblivion.

His pleading screams as he begged it to stop and begged it to continue were reduced to slurred raspy whispers and those become incoherent mumbles until those too were replace by such an exquisite silence, as the Maia lost all sense of self and only the darkness and his fea ripping itself apart remained.

It was like waking up, Sauron had long ago decided after stirring from a similar fit, except he never felt rested upon coming too. He felt tired, sore, and drained, but the burning and anxiety were mercifully absent. It wasn't a good feeling, but it was better than suffering the pain. Anything was better than that.

A sickly tremor wracked his battered fea, and he made sure to avoid looking upon himself as he turned his head to observe his surroundings.

The bedroom he was immensely relieved to find it empty and devoid of Linaer. She still wasn't back from the shopping trip her mother had dragged her on, which was good. He didn't really want to think about how shameful it would be if an adolescent Edain found him in such a state.

Something in him tried to twist and burn, but he forced the feeling back, unwilling to confront it.

The girl's absence left him wondering how much time had passed and how much more would slip by before she returned. He hated losing track of time. He hated losing consciousness during his...episodes. He hated how far he'd Fallen, and he hated that he would never again be what he once was. And he hated the mockery and humiliation that was sure to come when he approached his master as a bodiless fea.

It reminded him of a threat to made him by a half Maia long ago. And that made him shudder for another reason entirely as he recalled the scars that had marred him in the aftermath.

Part of him couldn't wait for Morgoth's arrival, so that he could once again take a physical form. And part of him. Perhaps a more logical part of him could wait several ages more the Dark Vala to reappear. Either way Sauron couldn't win.

It wasn't a reunion he was happily looking forward to. He couldn't wait to hear just what the Dark Lord thought of his former's Lieutenant stint as a dark lord, especially when that lowly Lieutenant had gotten closer to success than the great Vala had.

Sauron supposed he could try to write off his bid for power as nothing more than an attempt to avenge the Dark Vala. There was probably enough evidence he could garner to create an alibi that would seem plausible, but he doubted the Dark Lord would be wholly convinced. And if Sauron's story didn't convince him, or worse Morgoth caught him lying, he was doomed.

If Morgoth could just keep from learning of it, that would be best, but the Dark Maia couldn't imagine being so lucky.

If Sauron had been in the Void, and one of his most powerful servants came crawling back to him in such a pathetic state he'd be very eager to learn why. And it would not have sat well with him to learn his servant had become a dark lord in his own turn. That taste of power would have made his servant ambitious, and even if that servant swore fealty time and time again Sauron would never have been convinced of that servant's honesty. The threat of betrayal; of rivalry, would always be there until such time as he could afford to remove that servant form his services.

That would be what awaited him if he rejoined Morgoth.

He could decide not to rejoin Morgoth, and save himself a great deal of embarrassment and possible death, and roam the world as a bodiless entity, doomed to be a thrall of the wind until Arda was destroyed, and he was found by either Morgoth or the Valar and then he'd be killed or sent into the Void. And he wouldn't even have a body with which he could fight back.

A vicious tremor swept through the Fallen Maia, making the ragged darkness churn and boil. The burning gnawing sensation from before returned, accompanied by a terrible fear.

Morgoth was his best option even if it was a terrible option. The latter was just unthinkable. He'd served the Vala before, and that could work in his favour certainly. There wasn't a choice to make: under Morgoth he stood a better chance of surviving than he did on his own. That was it. He just wished there was a good option. One that ended with him taking physical form and surviving and not being thrown into the Void.

He was doomed! He was doomed! He was doomed! He was going to die! The Maia curled in on himself, as another tremor tore his frayed fea even further. He didn't want to be thrown in the Void. He didn't! He didn't-!

The gnawing and burning and pain returned full force, while his fear turned into utter panic that lashed at him like a whip, leaving him breathless, shaking, and cowering as that darkness that proceeded most of his fits rose mighty all around him, until it bent upon itself like a wave.

He wailed and seized, unconsciously gauging gaping furrows into himself as blackness crashed upon him.

* * *

Linaer shivered as she stepped through the front door, feeling the gloom and oppressive darkness that hung in the air and clung to the furnishings. Immediately she knew who the culprit was and with her new dress in hand she made directly for her room, very intent on asking just what the former dark lord who was intent on hiding was trying to do.

The air got darker as she approached her room. There was no visible difference in the air or any changes to the house. It was just a feeling of oppressive weight, and as she approached her door her bravery waned with every step, until she was frozen right outside questioning whether or not it was a good idea to walk in.

She glanced toward the wash room and hung her dress up, as she waited for her spine to re-grow, before daring to approach her door again.

Very disturbed by the heaviness of the air and afraid of the darkness she, the girl carefully pushed her door open, doing so as gently and softly as she possibly could. She waited for a sharp voice or sudden flare of heat to greet her or something else, but all that met the ajar door, propped open by her toe was the sound of Zigûr's voice faintly muttering.

Closing her eyes, she sucked in a breath stealing herself, and risked opening the door enough to poke her head in.

Zigûr was there. The darkness was seeping out of her closet writhing, churning, and tendrils of it were stretching themselves thin until they split before doing it again and again. All the while his voice emanated from within that darkness, muttering and sometimes moaning.

Horribly unsure of what to do she dared to slip into her room, closing the door open behind her. She was the only in the house as her mother had gone to Elwin. And without the risk of Zigûr being found Linaer had interest in sealing herself in a room with a distraught evil Maia.

"Zigûr?" Her voice was little more than whisper, and he didn't respond.

Licking her lips to relieve them of their dryness she called to him again, daring to step closer as she did. "Zigûr?"

Her only response was the Maia's continue mumbling and thrashing. The darkness was splayed out across the floor, overlying her shoes as it convulsed, and she knelt down a fair distance away hoping to catch whatever it was he was saying.

The only word she could catch, was an occasional 'no' or 'please.' The rest of it was either too quiet for her to make out or spoken in completely different languages. Some of it sounded elfish and some it sounded downright foul and sent shivers coursing down her spine, and other words seemed to be neither.

She crouched there, worried and unsure of what to do. She wasn't sure she could help him, and she really wasn't sure that this was something he would want her to see.

"Zigûr?"

She reached out as if to touch the churning darkness. But caution stayed her hand. He might react very badly to any contact especially since she wasn't sure he was aware of her. Her hand, little more than a foot away from him, could feel the heat emanating from the former dark lord.

The darkness convulsed, fluttering and churning, as it seemed to rip itself apart in the throes of a violent spasm. For a moment the Maia's mumbling grew louder, Linaer could suddenly hear what she assumed were words in a language that scraped abrasively against her ears.

Gathering her skirts the girl fled, trying block out the unmistakable sound of a sob as she flung herself into the hall and quietly shut the door as quickly as possible.

Leaning against the wall Linaer waited for her breathing to slow down. She had no idea what she had seen, let alone how to respond to it. He hadn't even known she'd been next to him. And Linaer suspected it was best that he never found out.

'_What could make a dark lord cry?' _

The air still felt incredibly heavy and that needed to be dealt with before her mother and sister came home. She bit her lip, unsure of how she was going to accomplish that. The Fallen Maia was completely out of it, and rousing him just to tell him off for darkening her home seemed like an incredibly bad idea.

She looked toward the kitchen, and the sunlight streaming in through the widow, as if mocking the darkness about it.

It was nice outside….

'_Maybe we can eat lunch on the porch…?'_

Linaer frowned suddenly determined to open almost every single window in the house. Letting in the breeze and sunlight might help dispel the gloom from the house, and it might do him some good too….

* * *

**So I'm doing this thing. It's a Q&amp;A. Basically, every person is allowed to ask the characters or the writer questions. **

**The rules for this are simple:**

**1\. I will allow up to _three_ questions to be asked. (Please bear in mind that I will be screening for appropriateness and spoilers, so if a question isn't answered then one of those reasons is likely why.)**

**2\. In you're review put a little 'Q&amp;A' over the questions so I'll know they're supposed to be posted at the end of the following chapter.**

** 3\. Only characters who have been introduced in the story may be asked a question. (Sorry, but Morgoth is currently in the Void and unable to speak with anyone at this time.) **

**4\. Multiple characters may be addressed in a single question.**

**5\. There is a potential risk for spoilers depending on the nature of the questions that have been asked. Some people love spoilers, some people hate them. I will try to keep as few secrets from the light as possible.**

**6\. All questions and answers will be anonymously posted at the end of the next chapter. (I will be posting usernames.)**

**7\. I will not answer repeat questions. (I'll be keeping track of all the questions and their chapters, so that I can point people toward them.)**

**8\. Don't hassle me about the questions. (Hassle me about updates, please. But not the questions.)**

**I thought I'd try this because I thought it'd be fun for you (and me), and it might encourage me to update faster. If this works out I'd like to continue doing this for the rest of the fic, or as long as you all are interested. No one is obligated to do this, nor does anyone have to continue asking questions if they don't want to. And this _will not_ be a first-come/first-served deal. Everyone who asks a question will get at least one answered. (Again, I will be screening for spoilers and appropriateness.) **

**So ask your questions. **


	12. Death Toll

**Author's Note: I have decided that LD is far easier to write than RITD. There's a 'purer' romance between the leads, which is easier to deal with than the quagmire between WK and Bren (with a bit of Herumor on the side.) After the latest tiff between Herumor and Uvatha which was grueling to write (that chapter's still not done) this is like… "I can breathe again." It's wonderful. **

**Since you may have asked, the reason this is easier is because unlike the ringwraiths who can't feel 'love' for anyone other than their master, Sauron potentially can.**

**Discaimer: It's fanfiction. Always will be.**

* * *

**Death Toll**

_ 'Compassion'll get her killed.'_

Images of Zigûr tearing himself apart repeated themselves to sound of her uncle's criticism. He'd never approved of her risky behaviour, and it left Linaer with a sour taste in her mouth, because she had never learned how to make him understand why she did the things she did. She didn't know how to explain to herself let alone someone else, and so he'd always displayed an odd mix of empathy, anger, and disapproval toward her whenever they interacted.

Most of the time the anger and disapproval seemed to win over his empathy, because her father was his brother and he hadn't known what to do with her either. She'd hurt him, and her uncle had never approved of that. And she had not understood for a long time what he'd meant, and then when it finally dawned on her she'd cried. That had only further driven wedges between herself, her uncle, and her father, because she couldn't fix it. She couldn't change it. She didn't even know something had been wrong. And then she'd overheard them talking to each other, about her, one day. It had made her angry. It made her feel guilty. But she'd left before they could find out she'd been there, and she'd never told anyone what she'd heard.

Linaer chewed her lip, as Zigûr still thrashed and sobbed in her mind. The image made her chest hurt unable to eat, so she used the time proven method of shuffling food about her plate to make it seem as though she was.

Her plate was turning into one solid lump of food, and she could feel concerned gazes upon her, and that scared her because she couldn't tell them what was really bothering her. She couldn't tell them the former Dark Lord of Mordor had taken up residence in her closet, because Elwin would be put in danger. And frankly after what she'd seen she couldn't find the hatred needed to turn against him anyways. He had to be her problem, no one else's and especially not Elwin's.

The hand not twirling her fork around her plate rose up to rub at the sore aching spot below her sternum. It always hurt the worst there, like a tiny little fire, burning and devouring from the inside out, and it only made her that much more miserable, and unable to eat.

She just wanted to sleep, but the girl knew she couldn't, not until she'd figured out how to keep her family safe and him from being discovered. But she was at a loss as to how to make that a reality.

Her response was visceral and too powerful for her to reason out. And all that remained was him, her, and the people he could hurt, or the people who could hurt him. Linaer knew they needed to be separated, and that she would, had to, serve as the wall between them, while at the same time being there for both sides.

Something had to be done. She had to fix it. She had to. Her family needed her to. No one else could know he was loitering in her room. No one else deserved to be in that kind of danger. It had to be him and her. He couldn't be in a position to threaten Elwin, her family, or anyone else, but she wasn't going to watch someone mutilate themselves either. And once she'd sorted him out, she'd sort out the end of the world and Morgoth too.

But how to fix it was the question. She sent a few unfortunate peas to their grizzly deaths as she mulled it over, shepherding them to the top of Mount Mashed Potato, and pushing them into a steaming gravy flow when any possible solutions to eluded her.

Linaer shouldn't have left him. But she knew that she had need to. Her chest tightened as she remembered how she'd run. She'd actually run away from a guy who had been torturing himself and crying. She'd run away from that, and it burned and grated against her senses, jarring and wrong, so so wrong, adding more fuel to painful little fire building in her chest.

Her fingers twisted and fisted into her skirt until she felt tiny fibres tearing.

It had been right to run. It had been right to leave him alone, because staying would have made it worse, for him, if not for everyone else. She was sure he would not have taken it well if he'd known she was there. And she was fairly certain bring it up was a bad idea, but the voice in her head telling her that could not convince the burning in her chest to cease or her appetite to return.

A curse twisted itself into a ragged little breath that earned her a worried glance from her mother as slipped over her lips.

Hopefully the older woman wouldn't start prying about what ailed her, and would assume instead that Lin was going through that delightful phase that for most women occurred once a month, but seemed to happen to her whenever her body felt like re-enacting the War of the Ring.

Linaer shot her a reassuring smile, as her fingers slowly eased their grip on her dress.

She wasn't sure what to say. It was probably dangerous to even bring up the fact that she'd seen him, and she wouldn't, but he didn't need to be alone in such a state, and she had already left him alone for the entire afternoon, which was far too long to be away from anyone who was crying and mutilating themselves.

Afternoon had bled into evening and dinner with the family and Balakân was proving to be a trial. She couldn't eat and she couldn't be bothered to pay attention to the sporadic bursts of quiet conversation between her companions.

"So I'll be leaving soon. Elwin I hope you remember that lantern you promised to design for me," Balakân grinned at the little girl. His eyes flickered to Linaer as she rolled some peas up a mountain of mashed potatoes and proceeded to drown them one by one in a lake of gravy.

"You shouldn't have to go." Linaer frowned as her chest tinged. She hated the pain, because it almost always happened. It wasn't enough to just get upset over something like a normal person. No. Every part of her needed to be in on the action, and that just made her more upset. Then her chest would really start to hurt, and it became a delightful cycle of pain, until she eventually wound up with her curled up in bed unable to do much more than sleep. Fortunately it rarely got so far, before she got over it or someone intervened.

"It's dangerous. And there are still orcs in those mountains." And one day her father's party had gotten ambushed and he'd never come back. Her fingers fisted into her skirt, until her knuckles turned milky.

Balakân frowned at her, well aware of what she was thinking about, and not quite sure how to respond.

"Why did Sauron even make orcs-?"

Three voices hissed, two out of actual fear and one out of habit. Hand clamping her mouth Elwin offered a wide-eyed apology.

"Don't say his name. Don't say the names of any Fallen Maiar." Elwin wiggled uncomfortably beneath the man's gaze.

"Maiar come when their called," her mother's voice added.

Elwin nodded looking nervous and contrite. Her pale blue eyes were flickering about the room as though the Dark Lord would suddenly appear. Linaer squeezed her arm reassuringly. That particular Maia was already in their house, not that her sister needed to know that. "Don't worry. If he shows up I'll beat him a frying pan. But you still shouldn't have used his name."

At that Elwin smiled, and she bumped her head against Linaer's arm.

"Thanks Linny."

Linaer nodded, smiling through a tiny of bite of potatoes that she forced herself to eat.

"Now about orcs: they were actually created by the first dark lord. His lieutenant- the Maia that later became the Lord of the Rings- stole the idea from him," Balakân answered.

"And were all elves once right?"

Balakân frowned. "That's right."

Linaer stopped twirling her food around. "Do you think he ever regretted it? When the ring was destroyed or when the tower came crashing down? Do you think there may have been a moment-?"

"I doubt that either of them regretted much of anything, "Linaer's mother said in a tone that that suggested the conversation needed to come to a swift close. On the opposite side of the table Balakân sighed. "You girls, sure speak of grim things at the table. My daughter's much the same way."

"Yes," her mother's face brightened. "How is Ioreth?"

"She's doing well enough. Last I heard her eldest had gotten ill, which is to be expected. People are always ill in the bigger cities. But for the most part she says the family has settled into Osgiliath nicely and she adores their new house."

Linaer frowned, acutely aware that her question had been ignored. It was an important question. For all she knew maybe the Fallen Maia was guilty and had turned to self-mutilation as a means to ease the pain. It was probable, though somewhat unlikely, and she wanted to steer the conversation back to that topic, because she didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to stop him from doing that, or how to help Elwin, or prevent the world from ending, and the words danced upon her tongue, in a silent jig because talk of Ioreth had brightened the room's mood and she was unwilling to darken it, when the windows she'd opened had failed to lighten the air, and she could still see shade blacker than it normally was clinging to the corners of walls, and the spaces under the furniture.

So the girl forced a tiny forkful of potatoes into her mouth and tried not to think about much outside the present conversation.

Linaer had met Ioreth a few times. There were only a few years between them, but Ioreth had been fairly preoccupied during those meetings, tending to two young boys, so while Balakân's daughter had seemed friendly they hadn't had much time to chat.

And Ioreth's husband Hallas had seemed nice and had thought the world of Elwin, which earned him Linaer's favour from the start. But she knew him as well as she knew Ioreth: not at all.

Conversation remained family oriented, and Linaer tried to pay attention to it, but her mind was soon pulled back to the fugitive dark lord she'd left sobbing in her room. The potatoes turned to ash in her mouth.

Linaer felt like she was suffocating. It didn't matter how long she held them in her mouth, how hard she willed herself to swallow, the potatoes refused to go down. She needed to spit them out. She need to get out and get away until she could sit down and think without being stared at or forced to listen to inane details about things that didn't matter.

The world was coming to an end! There was an emotionally distraught dark lord in her closet! And she couldn't tell them that! She hated that! She hated lies. She hated secrets. She hated that she cared. She hated that she suddenly cared for Sauron-of all people.

But care she did - too much, too deeply, too uncontrollably, and in the back of her mind her uncle's voice rang like a bell, making her blood curdle, her eyes sting, and her stomach coil.

Without a word she hastily stood, and half ran out the front door so she could spit potato into some nearby bushes.

Coughing, sputtering, and rubbing at the sore spot beneath her chest, Linaer flopped down near her herb garden. Sighing and lying back she breathed in the scent of lavender and mint, trying to calm herself. She needed to calm down. But her head continued to run vicious circles around every problem that had risen to torment her within the last week or so. Her chest still burned with that awful rot feeling, and every muscle in her body was tensed, and her fingers flexed and curled convulsively as she stared up at puffy clouds darker than the cobalt sky beyond.

"Linaer," her mother's voice called out from within the house, and the girl made to stand as she heard her mother's footsteps near the door.

"Lin darling," her mother placed a cool hand against her forehead and cheeks. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Linaer mumbled, consciously forcing her hand away from her chest. She was starting to feel sick. Mostly she just wanted to cry. She didn't want the problems she had and her chest felt like it was crawling with maggots instead burning with a fire.

Her mother frowned, and checked her forehead again looking for a fever that wasn't there. "Go to bed love. I'll bring you some tea if you want it."

Linaer nodded, and wilted into her mother's arms with a loud series of sniffles. She didn't cry, because she had no way to explain the tears and she wouldn't lie if she was asked. So she let her eyes close and soaked up the warmth of her mother's arms, until the sniffles had receded and the tears were locked away and hidden.

Slowly she straightened, forcing everything she needed to hide behind a brittle wall. Offering her mother a tight guilt riddled smile she made her way back inside, glad that at least she wouldn't have to sit through the rest of dinner.

"Lin's going to bed," her mother announced. Linaer felt the woman's lips brush her hair as she stepped around her and headed to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well," Balakân said unhappily.

Linaer nodded to him, as Elwin got up and hugged her. "You'll be around tomorrow right?" Linaer trailed her fingers through the little girl's silky hair.

"Yes. I should be-"

"I wanted to talk to you, and…" she gestured at the table.

"We'll be able to see each other," he gave her a light smile.

"Get better Linny."

A faint smile tugged Linaer's lip as she looked down at her sister. "I will."

With a quick peck to the girl's brown Linaer released her and headed to her room.

All afternoon she'd avoided it, hoping to give her closet's occupant some space; even though she thought leaving him alone had been horrible.

Uncertainty made the fire burn worse as she worried over the possible things she could find. She rubbed at her sternum, trying to ease the feeling, before giving up because it never worked.

Sucking in a breath to steady her she opened door.

What she found was thankfully anticlimactic.

Everything was as awfully frilly, pink, and horribly messy as she'd left it, and emerging from her closet was a fairly calm looking mass of black miasma. She hastily turned and shut the door, hoping that none of the relief she felt showed on her face. The pain in her chest dulled and she pressed a fist into her bosom enjoying the relief.

"I have had a stressful day," Linaer sighed, as she turned to face the Fallen Maia thrilled that she hadn't walked in on him crying or tearing at himself, or been forced to resuscitate a self-destructing fea. "And my mother might come in unannounced, just so you know."

The girl's smile faded and her hand remained firmly fisted against her chest as she meandered toward her closet and the dark presence loitering just outside of it. She paused when she could feel the heat that emanated from the dark billowing cloud. Linaer really hoped they weren't about to have another staring contest. She wasn't interested in playing another game of dominance.

"Something ails thee."

Something throbbed in Linaer's chest, and the reflexive tightening of her white knuckled fist cut off her immediate response of, 'I'm fine.' He wasn't asking for confirmation, and he didn't sound all that concerned.

"It's nothing serious." Linaer flashed him a reassuring smile, earning her a derisive snort, but she continues as though she hadn't heard. "I've had worse."

"It will not do thee well to attempt deceiving a master of deception." The heat around her receded as she scowled at him.

"And I suppose you'd like a shrine built in your honour?" The words were out before she could stop them, and a silence thicker than molasses filled the room. Slowly, very slowly, the dark essence of the Fallen Maia condensed. Then he laughed.

"Thou hath mistaken me. I was merely offering thee a bit of good advice, for thou possesseth little skill in the art, and attempting such perjury, even when so trivial could set a bad precedent."

Linaer frowned at him unsure how to respond. His voice was pacifying and amiable, even if his laughter had been condescending.

"I appreciate the…um…help, but I would rather not be good at it."

Another laugh issued from the Fallen Maia, blatantly derisive. "The words of one who naïvely clings to the notion of righteous honesty. When thou hath grown up, thou shall understand that manipulation is a tool like any other."

The heat receded as Zigûr moved aside, giving her space to rummage for a nightgown in the closet.

"There's beauty in the truth."

"Beauty exists in many forms most of which are far less costly…."

Linaer shrugged, brushing aside any logic in his argument, because deception had a cost of its own. "Yeah maybe," she frowned, "but the problem with lying is that at some point it starts to make people feel like everyone around must be lying too, and that seems like a steep price from here. Maybe it really isn't, I don't know. But I know I can't live like that, unable to trust anyone, fearing their motives if they do something for me, fearing them if they don't. It hurts being unable to smile and say 'thanks' sincerely." Her chest fluttered painfully. "My father thought the way you do. He thought I was foolish, feared what might happen to me if I didn't learn the value of distrust."

"And yet thou hast knowingly chosen to live at the leisure of others. That is foolish."

"It doesn't matter. The choice wasn't mine to make."

The air had lightened considerably, in spite of the conversation topic. And Linaer made a rather bold decision to step around the Fallen Maia and search her closet for a nightgown. Putting her back to him, even if it was at an angle that suggested she was involved in their conversation, was a major gamble on her part.

"Why was it not?"

Heaving a sigh, Linaer tugged on the sleeve of a nightgown, hoping to just pull it from the hanger, but the sound of a falling clothespin dropping to the floor and getting lost in a labyrinth of shoes made that a bad idea.

"Because I'm not strong enough." She shot Zigûr a brittle smile. "I'm not strong enough to be hard like that." She removed the other clip from the hanger before sliding the frilly garment from the hanger.

"That is a dangerous admission."

"I know. But the world is coming to end and I'll probably die anyways, so it's not as though I have a lot to lose."

The memory of him tearing himself apart rose to the forefront of her mind.

Underneath Zigûr's current state of calm lurked something harmful and painful. And she wondered once more what had triggered it. How many times had it happened already?

There was more in front of her than just evil. There was pain there. He had to be in pain. The girl would have bet every coin she had on it, because she'd been taught about the rings of power like every other Gondorian child, and how his ring had been destroyed by a Hobbit. Part of him was said to have been attached to that thing which meant there was a part of his soul was missing or something. It was a horribly unpleasant thought, and she grimaced as a pang of sympathy resonated unpleasantly in her chest.

She couldn't imagine what that must have felt like. Evil or not, deserved or not, such a wound would have hurt and left a lasting scar. She couldn't imagine what he'd gone through since then or what he was going through now. All she knew for sure was that he was as dangerous to himself as he was to her. It made sense that the loss of the ring had a lot to do with it.

But there was more than that. He'd sort of implied that he didn't trust people, and that lying served him as means of protection. He didn't feel safe. Even in a house filled with nothing but a few powerless Edain -one of whom had been threatened to help him, one that was pregnant, and the other too young to do anything- he didn't feel safe enough to let his guard down.

He had a reslove made of adamant. It was almost admirable, and definitely saddening. No one should have felt that insecure or become that hard to survive.

Silence reeled out between them, as the Maia and Human watched each other. And after a while Linaer shifted.

"I need to change. Mother could come by with tea at anytime, so keep yourself hidden…."

Clutching her nightgown to her chest she hastily left her room. She'd never been one for awkward silences, and their coversation had definitely been weird. Especially since she'd seen that.

She quietly darted into the laundry and quietly shut the door behind her.

Pulling her hair down from the sloppy bun she'd made while she'd been cooking she eyed the dress she'd bought. It was in her opinion, a very nice dress, apart from the fact that it wasn't blue. If it had been blue it would have been perfect.

It was peach like the clouds sometimes were during the sunrises her father used to wake her early to see. A sharp pang lanced through her chest as she slipped from the dark green she'd been wearing.

Most mornings he would wake her up, and she'd grumble and groan about being woken before the sun was in the sky, and he'd just laugh with that carefree throaty laugh of his and carry her out of the house to a tree stump that had long since been devoured by termites and lichens, and he'd sit with her in his lap making her listen to the birds sing, exulting the end of the night, until the sun finally appeared painting the sky in yellows, pinks, peaches, and oranges.

Tiny flames sparked to life in her chest, burning her sternum and making her uncomfortably warm and jittery as she threw her green dress on a pile of laundry she'd wind up cleaning tomorrow.

She touched the tiny glass pearls along the collar, remembering the scratch of her father's stubble against her head as she shifted in his lap and the smell of earth and pipe-weed that clung to him. It's why she'd gotten the dress. In the shop when she'd discovered it she'd honestly thought that for a moment she'd smelled him, and even now she pressed her face into the fabric hoping to catch some whiff of Westman's-weed, some confirmation that he'd been there or was still around watching over them all. But all she smelled was the cloying perfume that had filled the shop she'd gotten it from.

Fingers curling into the chest of her nightgown she released the dress with a disappointed sigh. She had known it was a trick of her mind. Her father was in the Halls of Mandos or wherever Eru sent the souls of men.

But then it was probably a good thing he far away in a better place, because she feared what he might have thought of her for allowing Zigûr to remain in the house. He would have hated her for it. The pain in her chest blazed as guilt washed over her.

She had nothing to be guilty of, because nothing had happened, and Linaer was determined to see that it didn't. The family was safe, and she'd keep them safe. But she couldn't just throw Zigûr out either, because he was hurt and had nowhere to go, and he'd probably harm someone if she did. And there was no way she could have explained to anyone why he was suddenly so fucking important, because he was evil and deserved everything he'd gotten. She believed that, but at the same time it didn't matter.

She couldn't make it matter.

In the laundry room removed from it all for a moment, she could reason it out. Every fault in her logic or complete lack of reason was painfully obvious and it was totally beyond her control to do anything about it. She was too impulsive, and she had never had any qualms about being equally impulsive in the past.

Never had she felt remorse for the consequences of her actions. Linaer could feel remorse and guilt for the people who got hurt because of some the things she'd done in the past, but the acts themselves had always been right, and anyone of them she cared to think of she would have done again.

This was the exact same thing. Protecting her family from Zigûr was the right thing to do, but keeping an eye on Zigûr and proving him with some sort of refuge was also right.

There was no way she could have explained that to anyone and have convinced them of the rightness of her actions, not that she generally cared about what people thought (unless they were her family or friends, because she cared a great deal about they thought) because she knew when she was right. But it made her feel guilty, because they would worry when they had no reason too, and that hurt them and she didn't want to hurt them. The words always failed her when she needed them, because she couldn't make anyone understand.

More than anything she wished that she could.

The peach dress was suddenly very hard to look at because she'd hurt her father most, and her uncle didn't like her because of it, and she had never apologized. She'd been too young to understand that even though she'd been right she'd still made him scared. She hadn't known until she'd gotten older. Even now the words would have hung partly false. As sorry as she was for hurting him, she wasn't sorry for what she'd done. She knew that, because she'd done it several times since then. She was doing it now and she'd never stop.

* * *

**So I said this allowed for some breathing room. I think I ate my words. This actually proved to be a bear to write, because Linaer's head is a rather messed up place. I decided to cut it off where I did because I felt like the conversation between Ziggy and Linny will make for a nice reprieve from all the chaos of the last couple chapters. And then we should be at the Light Festival. ;)**

**QUESTIONS:**

**1.****LINAER: With a former Dark Lord camping out in your closet, life must feel just a little more complicated than you'd like. Let's remove him from the equation for just a minute, shall we? Now, imagine a future where everything goes right for you. You end up doing and becoming everything you ever aspired to be. How does the 'Perfect Life of Lin' play out? **

In a perfect world, I would become a world renown culinary artist. I would either work in a real professional kitchen, which is so hard to do, or I'd make a business of catering at parties and go my own way. That way I wouldn't be forced to specialize in any single area. Um, let me see, I'd live in a moderately sized house with a lot of kitchen space near my family so I could easily visit them or they could easily visit me. I'd be able to join my cousins in their ridiculous antics on lazy days. And I'd be a famous chef. That would be my perfect world.

**2.****ZIGUR: I can't imagine being a nebulous being of dark-matter comes with the same standard features as you more 'structured' forms. How do you see and feel the world? What sensations, colors, ect. are you processing at any given time? **

It's… how do I describe this to a sniveling mortal? It is in some ways similar to how life was like when the Ainur were first created. The difference lies primarily in the fact that I can see. My vision is much the same as thine, however I can see more…. My peripheral vision is greater as is the distance over I can see clearly. This would more or less be true if had possession of a hora, but be that as it may….

I can see other things as well, things that are hidden to thy eyes. Spirits and Wraiths are visible to me as is the shadowy realm they abide in. Most are elves, that long ago faded and for one reason or another chose not to heed the call of Mandos. The majority are harmless to those who would seek to contact them, but some…some are bitter and resentful and I would not advise seeking their council.

Unclad I have always been most perceptive to other high powers, and now this instance is no different. I feel them and their moods and they feel me. This is true of powers other than elven fear, as well. In this form I can sense Maiar far off while they in their bodies of flesh are blind to me.

I'm aware of emotions and the general mood an atmosphere.

As I am now, I'm most attuned to sounds. Most of those would be pitches both lower and higher than thy ears could hear. As a Maia it ought to go without saying that I'm hyperaware of music. I can hear hummed verse over a greater distance than spoken word, and true singing beyond either of those. There are a few very distinctive sounds that I have always been able to hear from anywhere, and what those are is of no importance to thee.

**3.****AUTHOR: What eXACTLY does Lin look like? I'm finally putting you on the spot and demanding answers like the assertive reader I am!**

Dear Assertive Reader, imagine if you will; a plump, slightly effeminate orc, crammed into a 5'4"-5'7" human body. Then give it pale skin, brown hair, and grey eyes, and you've got Linaer. Mostly. She _is_ much more comely than the average orc. On the numerical beauty scale that our shallow society has developed she's a three or a four. Maybe a five if you dress her nicely. Maybe. I wouldn't cast a bet on that.


	13. Balakân

**Massive Author's Note: **

**I am rewriting this story in its entirety. I thought a simple revamp would work and it hasn't. So I am discontinuing this piece. I have marked this fic as complete, and will not be updating it until I the new version is underway and I know exactly where it's heading. **

**I will not be taking this version down. It will remain up, and at some point I do hope to return and give you all the crack I said it was going to be. **

**Sorry about how long this took to put up. I've been sidetracked by other projects, and my fanfiction as a whole have been severely held back. **

**As pitiful compensation, I am giving what would have been the next chapter. It doesn't make up for the lack of progress or abandonment, but I hope it suffices. I have answered the previous questions, submitted at the end of the last chapter. **

**I'll continue answering questions for anyone who has them. And I'll be continuing the practice in the new version which I hope to begin posting in the very near future. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sauron, only the closet I've been keeping him in.**

* * *

**Balakân**

"Balakân…?" Linaer hesitated in the doorway of the living room, weirdly leery of the ranger reclining in a chair with a weathered book in his calloused hands. He looked up at her with curious green eyes.

Her fingers clenched into a nervous fist against her sides as molten worry shot through her chest burning sensitive flesh. Words she'd rehearsed and planned rose up to her lips in a single confusing glob before dying behind her teeth as she was overwhelmed by a fresh torrent feelings and thoughts, and somehow through hopeful stare alone she tried to convey what was suddenly impossible to say.

She wanted her question from the night before answered, wanted to know how to help her impromptu roommate, and she wanted to go back to a time before he'd showed up and told her the end was at hand. For hours she'd brooded over it, until she'd come up with something that in her head had been perfect. A way to have the conversation without risking his discovery or her sister's life, but now she couldn't remember how most of it went, and what she could recall seemed bitterly feeble. The words had seemingly disappeared.

_What had it all been for? Why even become a dark lord in the first place? Had he ever regretted anything? What had anyone ever done to deserve being systematically destroyed one country at a time? _

If someone could give insight, if someone could shed light upon what haunted her guest, if someone could answer those questions she could help him and protect her family. But the words stuck, caught in her throat, like burnt crumbs welded to the inside of a pan.

Scouring them from her throat would be too painful, so she stood, feeling with every breath her chest tightening and every pain sharpen. Forcibly she swallowed, wincing at the sting as part of the lump lodged in her throat gave way.

It was just enough to give her the ability to talk, and she leapt at the opportunity, before she lost the chance.

"I-uh…um…I wanted you to answer my question…from last night?"

The ranger looked up from his book with an unreadable expression, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"I just don't understand. What makes a person become that evil?"

The book Balakân held snapped shut, and he set it on a nearby table. "Lin have you not studied? He was corrupted by the first Dark Lord."

"How?"

Balakân rubbed the bridge of his nose before answering. "His Master seduced him with power just as He seduced others with promises of power when he was a dark lord. Most of the history books in this house could teach you that."

"I know, but I just-"

A sigh escaped the ranger's lips, as he rose to stand.

"I wonder if he ever regretted it, or wished that he hadn't-"

Linaer clammed up as he stepped in front of her. His face was gentle if not concerned, but there was something in his eyes-something she'd seen before that made the fire in lungs burn fiercer. It terrified her, and she looked down at her feet, unwilling to look at it, unwilling to admit that was what she was seeing.

Balakân's voice was sympathetic and the hand he placed upon her shoulder gentle, but she knew what was hidden underneath, and her hand casually rose to her chest. She refused to meet his gaze, as his hand lifted her chin.

"Lin, people who do bad things are not always evil, this is true. But this is the Dark Lord of the Second and Third Age we're talking about- the greatest evil this world has ever known. He did unspeakable things, and ran from redemption when it was offered to him, only to carry on his Master's legacy." His fingers squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

"I doubt at this point even all the Valar and Maiar in Valinor could find anything in him other than darkness and deception."

His hand fell away from her chin and dropped onto her other shoulder, as he realized making eye contact was futile. Instead he gave her an encouraging little shake.

"I know you try to see the best in others and that's not a bad thing. But I have spoken with your uncle and your mother, you try to seek it in places where it-"

Terror swept over Linaer a crushing wave, chilling her blood, and making the pain in her chest unbearable. She looked up at him as something uncomfortable squirmed in her insides, setting the fire in her chest to blaze with new intensity. She saw then what she'd feared seeing.

Sympathy and condemnation swirled sickeningly in his green eyes. Linaer stepped back as icy panic turned her breaths into ragged shallow gasps. She felt that she was about to be sick, and her chest. That spot just beneath her sternum felt like it was tearing.

She'd seen that look. Oh, so many times she'd seen that look. It was always in her uncle's eyes, and he'd been talking to her mother and Balakân, turning them against her.

The ranger's words were drowned out in the rush of blood pounding in her ears. She no longer cared for what he had to say. But in a panic a tiny voice in her head reminded her that she had other uncles. Her mother had brothers and brother-in-laws too, and it was possible that Balakân had meant one of them. It wasn't enough to quell her fear or ease the ripping in her chest, but it was enough to make her ask the question she did not want to know the answer to.

"Which uncle?"

She stepped farther away as concern flickered across his face. He probably didn't know about her tenuous relations with her uncle, so he didn't understand.

'_Please not Haleth, please not Haleth….'_

Over and over again she prayed in her mind that he would say another name, any name.

"Haleth."

Linaer's breath caught. Tears stung her eyes and she was sure her heart stopped. Haleth was a ranger as her father had been, as Balakân was, and it made sense they would have spoken, just like it made sense that he would have spoken to her mother. But she felt like she'd punched in the gut all the same.

She couldn't believe it-didn't want to believe it. Concern was the only thing in Balakân's eyes now.

"Linaer-?"

The girl jerked away from his outstretched hand and fled.

He'd spoken to Uncle Haleth, the uncle who couldn't understand her and had never tried to understand her. He was the one who'd driven a wedge between her and her father. He hated her, and tried to wrap his condescension up in sympathy like so many others before.

Her chest grew all the tighter as she blindly ran to her room, tears thick and hot blurring her vision.

* * *

Zigûr started as the door flew open, snapping a panicked curse at her, but she was beyond hearing him. Sobbing and wheezing, she slammed the door shut, locked it, and flew into a corner between two shelves. Clutching at her chest as her of entire body convulsed with gasping shuddering sobs. After a moment turned her face toward the wood.

A knock rattled the door, and the Fallen Maia zipped into the closet, slinking into the deepest shadows he could find, fearful and frightfully curious of the drama about to unfold.

* * *

Huddled in her corner Linaer cried, ignoring the Maia and the frantic knocking at her door.

She had always hoped her bad luck with friends had been simply that, an inherent inability to make friends and prevent them from hating her. They always ended up hating her, for what she didn't know- just being she guessed- but then that strange plague had passed to her uncle, and she'd hoped that would be end of it. But now he'd been poisoning her mother and Balakân. They'd end up hating her too.

In everything her mother had done, Linaer saw Uncle Haleth's designs. The never ending battle over being married had his name written all over it. Her mother hated her and wanted her to get married, so she wouldn't have to put up with her anymore, because the frills and pink; an attempt at conforming her had failed. Because no mother wanted a daughter that was messed up in the head, more manly and girly, and inherently despicable.

And now Balakân, someone she liked, and was just starting to know would soon wind up hating her too. She could hear him at the door calling to her asking her what he'd done.

"Go away-!"

Heavy breathless sobs swallowed up her words.

And soon her mother's voice joined his, shouting from afar, joining the overly loud roar of blood pounding in her ears.

Linaer couldn't take it. She couldn't bear the thought of her mother hating her, and yet why else would she be so adamant to marry her off? What was wrong with her, that she made everyone hate her? What had she done?

Choked, breathless apologies, fought their way passed her lips.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The girl had no idea what she'd done, but she was sorry for it. She'd spend the rest of her life trying to fix it if that's what it took to make them stop hating. She couldn't take it.

It wasn't like her father. She knew she had hurt him, and she knew why. She was sorry she'd hurt him, but she'd done the right the thing, the necessary thing, and for that she would never apologize. For that she wasn't sorry.

Everyday his pain haunted her, tormented her, niggled at her, and she could never get away. The guilt for hurting his feelings was always there, clawing at her from within, and now her mother and Balakân had to punish her too. Wasn't the regret not enough-?

A click broke through every other noise. The sound of the lock being tampered with from the outside. In a second she saw them barging in, saw Zigûr being found, sent away, forced to tear himself apart far from aid, and the possible harm that would befall Elwin as a result.

Linaer was at the door unsure of when or how she'd moved, holding it closed as the lock jiggled. She put her full weight against the door, grasping the knob so hard it hurt unwilling to let go.

She had to keep Elwin safe. If they barged in and found Zigûr , then her deal with him would be terminated, and all bets would be off. The Former Dark Lord wasn't in any position to be thrown out, and she feared what he could do, what he would do if accidently discovered.

All her panic, all her fear, all her pain melted away as her mind bent down upon a single focus: keeping the door closed no matter what. Nothing else in that moment mattered.

Praying to Eru, she tried to press even harder against the door. Her tears ceased, her ragged breathing was slowed, and her chest stopped hurting as her mind narrowed to a single focus. Calm and cool she stood before the door seemingly a different person.

They may have hated her, wishing her out of their lives, but she would still protect them, because their hatred didn't matter.

_'I love you,' _she whispered in her mind. Obsessively she loved and compulsively she offered that love to anyone in need of it. All her focus all her energy poured into a simple desire to hold the door, to stand between her family and her roommate, because it was the right thing to do.

As soon as the knob stopped rattling, she turned the button that would lock it once more.

A heavy thump made her flinch, but her hands remained firm upon the knob, and she tried to sidle even closer to the wood, shifting her feet in case that reflexive little action had weakened her brace against the door.

"Linaer please open the door," Balakân pleaded.

"I can't." Linaer's reply was calm and cool devoid of emotion.

"Please?" Balakân asked. "I just want to talk."

Linaer hesitated, momentarily glancing at the closet. Not even a wisp of blackened fëa could be seen. She could sense him though and she could feel his gaze.

"I want to be alone," Linaer said, returning her attention to the door.

From the other side she heard a sigh and what could have been the shifting of a hand across the rough grain.

"Lin I'm sorry. For whatever I did or whatever I said I apologize."

To that Linaer didn't answer. She couldn't. No one ever apologized for hating her. There was something wrong with her that made people hate her. It was always her fault. That's how it went. It was absurd that Balakân felt the need to say sorry, when he hadn't done anything. She was the one who should have been begging his forgiveness, but she couldn't very well do that when the household was in peril. So she stayed quiet, afraid if she so much as breathed too noisily he might loiter and press the issue further.

After a long moment of bitter silence Balakân departed.

All it took was his and her mother's voices emanating from the kitchen and a wave of relief, distress, fear, and sadness crashed upon her.

The pain in her chest flared up as if it had never left. Her breathing grew shallow, and all too soon she was curled upon on her bed sobbing as though she hadn't stopped.

* * *

**Questions**

** Lin's mama, WHY are you so desperate for your daughter to marry?**

My relationship with my eldest is a complicated one. In some ways she'd strong, and in others... I worry. I worry very much. She's always been kind, too kind, and she's been taken advantage of before. She refuses to change- the more I or anyone insists that she hardens, the more risk she puts herself in, or so it seems. It's gotten to the point where she doesn't really talk to me about things anymore. And I'm hoping, a husband, and a family will curb her need for risk and she'll start valuing her life. One of these days I-I fear she's going to get herself killed. And I can't bear the thought of that! She's too precious! It's out of my hands I can't reel her in! I don't know what else to do!

**How old is Elwin? **

The writer has no idea. None whatsoever. Anywhere between five and seven? That might be in the ball park. I don't know. She could be older.

** Zigûr- describe your thoughts after seeing the Frying Pan of Doom in action (on someone other than yourself)? (this last one is somewhat AUish)**

(If the writer can speak a second, this is not all that AUish. This _was_ going to happen.)

Having seen it used quite effectively on a few occasions, the answer to this question varies depending on who is being hit.

Seeing, Ar-pharazon getting bashed was delightful. Admittedly the wretch was a wraith so damage the child inflicted was minimal, but it was a pleasing scene to witness all the same.

I wish she could have hit Sarumon, for being the pitiful traitor that he is. But alas the opportunity never arose.

Seeing her threaten Morgoth with it was terrifying. If there's one person who ought not to be messed with it's him. Seeing her own weapon turned against her, was not enjoyable. She was exceedingly lucky that he didn't hit her with his re-forged battle hammer.


	14. The Beginning of the End

**The Rewrite has finally been posted!**

The prologue has been anyways. I hope it's worth it?

I tried to post the link. The site wont let me, so here's the title:

The Last Days (Redux)

* * *

**I will be continuing the Q&amp;A sessions in the new version. So feel free to shoot me more questions.**

**Seriously those things are inspiring and feed the muse a considerable amount.**

**I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. Re-introducing Linaer is proving difficult. So I guess as a question for all of you? What's something you want in a female lead that you normally don't get to see, but wished would appear more often?**


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